Miles In Between
by Jerrath92
Summary: On one side she tries to wrap her head around the fact that this ghost is a living, breathing man in a place of uncertainty and secrets. At the other end he whispers his brother's name every night behind prison bars. And in the middle is the one-handed man. Action/suspense/romance, Daryl is third character. M for gore, lang, violence, sexual reference. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: Meaningless Words

**Episode 3, "Walk With Me" has just finished premiering and now I am once again in need of a story to curb my Merle appetite. It's still early in the season and so much more could happen, but I'm going to go ahead and start a story anyway. I already know some of what I want to do, but if it so happens that what I write about makes it onto the show, know that I haven't seen the episodes yet and I was totally winging it. Then again, everything could go up in flames. I'm hoping for the best, but with Merle, well you just never know. **

**This story is going to be an experiment told from two and possibly three characters' point of view, but hopefully it'll work out. It starts within and after Season 3, Episode 3 and then I'm going to go my own way from there, though I might take a few of the finer points of other episodes if it will benefit my story. For example, if it turns out that Merle and Daryl end up leaving Woodbury and the prison to go off on their own on AMC, I might just use that (highly unlikely if you've read any of my other fics, but just as an example).**

**As always, thanks for taking the time to read through and please review and suggest to other readers!**

**ANDREA:**

"Hoooooly shiiiit. Blondie. Damn, you're lookin'—good."

The blade connected to his arm device jabbed straight up through the walker's jaw, but his facial expression never changed. Those eyes, cold, pale blue never left her as the walker toppled sideways and lay still. Even before she turned to him, she had known who he was. His voice was one she never expected to hear again because she, like his brother and all the others, had taken him for dead. But only one person in the world now for what it was could possibly have that slightly over-used, strained tone riddled with sarcasm. In his left hand he held a pistol and as he stood up, a giant towering over her while she knelt defenseless and frail, he pointed it skyward, sparing a grin for her. A grin she remembered from nearly a year ago. A grin she hated.

"Now," said Merle Dixon, "how's about a big hug for your ol' pal Merle, huh?"

The span of that leer from one side of his face to the other descended upon her like a thick, swirly vat of fog, clouding her brain and sending a toxic scent straight up into her nasal passages. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she keeled over.

Michonne had left the talking up to her other than demanding their weapons back, but the security, the sense of peace that Andrea had felt since arriving in Woodbury was something she was not keen to be rid of and she knew Michonne would not leave without her, not after everything they had been through. True, she knew enough about the woman to fill three lines on a wide-ruled piece of notebook paper, but Michonne had come to her aid in the woods, nursed her through the worst part of her illness, and taken countless risks for her and Andrea would not soon forget that. There was no telling if Rick had managed to lead the others to some sort of safe haven for the winter and if he hadn't, Michonne was the only friend she had left.

Regardless of her trust issues with the Governor, with Woodbury, and the whole shebang, Michonne would not drag Andrea away from this small town after only two days. There were moments when Andrea still felt a wave of nausea sweep over her and she was not in a hurry to risk getting sick again outside of these well-guarded walls. And if the others truly were gone, Andrea had no reason to leave Woodbury at all. It was _safe_ here, or so the Governor claimed, and the people were thriving. Before the horde, the Greene farm had been a thriving place as well, but that was a thing of the past now and Andrea wanted to stop running. She wanted to breathe without wondering if that breath would be her last and she desired security at last over all else. More than food, or the mental secure notion of having a weapon, or even the comfort of a strong, dependable arm around her shoulders, she wanted to stop running and Woodbury was shaping up to be this chance for her—if Michonne didn't ruin it.

Her friend had fallen asleep with a frown on her face beside her on the almost queen-sized bed they shared, but Andrea was wide awake with her thoughts. Ironic though it was that Michonne, who wanted to be well shot of Woodbury was the one to sleep while Andrea, who felt well-protected could not drift off, Andrea had more of a reason to still be awake at this hour than her friend. Michonne was not the one who was watching a ghost walk the streets of Woodbury, wondering if the man had some sort of torture in store for her.

In the limbo between her illness and the medicine the doctor shot into her blood, Andrea could still remember her conversation with Merle Dixon. When she got a full, unaltered look of him, Andrea could see immediately that he had lost weight in addition to his right hand. Sarcastic as ever, he hardly glanced away from her as he sat opposite her in that medical room, though his face looked slightly less menacing. If anything, he was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. They had not parted on a good note: the last words he spoke to her were ones of sexual nature and she had rejected them as quickly as they had come. The last she saw of him, she had been unconcerned, running beside Jacqui down from the roof to meet Rick with the moving van but now that she recollected the moment, she could distinguish a voice crying out, begging behind her. Merle had pleaded with them as they left him and he had every reason to hate them all.

He seemed only slightly interested when she told him that a fair number of people from the Atlanta group had been killed until she revealed that Amy was gone as well. Admitting her sister's death to a man who hardly knew her along with feeling the emotion in her throat made her sick to her stomach, but to her credit, she managed to look him in the eye and was surprised to find what appeared to be sympathy there.

"Your sister," he had said tonelessly. "She was a good kid." How could he have known? That was just bullshit; he knew nothing about Amy, didn't give a damn about her. "I'm sorry t'hear." An even bigger lie. Merle Dixon felt no empathy for anyone. But he had spoken the words, hadn't he? He could have reprimanded her and laughed in her face, saying that that was what she got for leaving him behind, but instead he held her gaze and expressed sorrow on her behalf, at least with his words. Whether or not his sorrow was genuine didn't matter. She knew she had hit a milestone in getting Merle Dixon to say the word "sorry".

The real flood of emotion came when the subject of Daryl cropped up. Seeing the change in Merle's face at the mention of his brother's name was like seeing a person display every emotion known to mankind at once. His eyebrows had gone up ever so slightly and the pitch in his voice quavered, but it was barely noticeable. "You seen my brother?" he had asked, casual and indifferent, but when he shot ahead and presumed the worst, she read the loss and fear behind the testosterone that fueled him. "Now he's dead." She saw his Adam's apple rise and drop and knew, despite everything his masculinity led her to believe, Merle had been waiting for months for any news on his baby brother.

She didn't know if Daryl was alive. If he had stayed with the group, he might be, if he had left and gone on alone, he could be, but there was just no way of telling. She didn't want to give Merle false hope, but she didn't want to crush his hope either, so when he asked how long it had been since she last saw him, she tried to make seven or eight months sound like seven or eight days. Sure enough, a glimmer of hope did appear on Merle's face and she just didn't have the heart to squash it.

She did know, though, how it felt to lose someone, but unlike Merle, she had seen her loved ones die. Amy by her own hand, Dale by Daryl's, and she, unlike Merle, had no hope to cling to that her sister or Dale might come back. Merle could keep hoping, but Andrea kept none for herself. She understood what it felt like, to want to hope and she could not begrudge him that. He may not give a rat's ass about what had happened to Amy, but Andrea loved Daryl as much as any of the others and she wanted to believe like Merle that he was still alive somewhere, somehow.

His deliverance of "sorry" was not overwhelming, and neither was her own when she had said, "Thank you." It certainly caught Merle off guard who most likely never expected to hear her utter those words, least of all to him, but at this point certain courtesies were in order. Andrea and Merle had lived and survived together, for however brief a time, and they knew how much siblings meant to one another. Andrea left Merle on the rooftop and he had saved her from dying an ill death in the woods. Things were as uneven as they could possibly be, but he could have shot her through the head instead, right? He could have put a bullet through Michonne's first, proceeded to torture or rape Andrea, and then kill her, but instead he carried her to the truck that had transported him to the helicopter crash and taken her to Woodbury's doctor. Perhaps he didn't hate her, or perhaps (and knowing as little of Merle as she did, more likely) he had done her this favor because he expected something in return.

But he would not get it. She would never give him that. She was grateful, but grateful had its limits and it ended well before the subject of sex.

For now, he would maintain his distance and continue to carry out the orders the Governor issued to him while Andrea attempted to persuade Michonne to stay. Merle was on a leash and at the other end was the Governor, so as long as Merle feared this hierarchy, she need not fear him.

All the same, sorry and thank you seemed to have brought them a long way, no matter how little emotion they put into it and all Andrea could do as she rolled onto her right side and closed her eyes, was hope that those two little words of hers would not be ones she came to regret.

**Wow, speed chapter. WD ended a little over an hour and a half and I started pumping this baby out about forty minutes ago with some Facebook distractions. Maybe I have a slight obsession. Maybe.**

**I appreciate your feedback, my friends, but until next episode, next chapter, have a good one!**


	2. Chapter 2: On Top of the Wall

**ANDREA:**

The Governor had more important business to attend to rather than take a private breakfast with Andrea and Michonne again which was all very well because Andrea thought that Michonne just might try to strangle the man if she had to sit down and endure his penetrating stares one more time. Instead their mute guard escorted them to a small diner that served as a cafeteria as well where a half dozen other Woodbury residents were taking their breakfast at small café tables. Michonne wolfed down her food hungrily enough and went back for seconds while Andrea was still working on her pancakes as she observed a mother and her toddler at a nearby table. The boy swung his legs over the chair, spooning some type of porridge into his mouth, but despite his relatively healthy and clean appearance, he did not look as content and carefree as a boy of his age should. The apocalypse could not hide the inner fear that the boy had endured before coming to Woodbury and Andrea realized the extent to which the dead had affected even children like Carl and this boy. Maybe he had had a narrow escape with the walkers. Perhaps he had lost his father, siblings, the family dog…

"That's Benny," said a voice from her left. She turned around in her chair to see Merle Dixon standing with his food tray balanced on his handicap device and grinning yet again. "Mind if I pop a squat for a few?"

Andrea's eyes flickered towards the food bar, but Merle laughed and said, "She went to the bathroom. I'll be finished by the time she gets back, don't worry." Noting the absence of her guard, she leaned back to see him standing outside of the women's restroom.

"So you're my babysitter while he's keeping an eye on Michonne?" she asked as Merle set his tray down beside hers and tucked into scrambled eggs and toast with his left hand. _His only hand_, Andrea reminded herself with a fresh wave of guilt.

"Naw, Shupert's assigned t'make sure y'don't do nothin' stupid or hazardous, but I'm just here for the conversation, Blondie," said Merle through a mouthful of food. Almost a year separated from the others had not improved his table manners very much, but Andrea knew there were far worse things to worry about. Watching him stab his eggs with his fork, she wondered how long it had taken him to adjust to life without the use of his right hand. He would have had to relearn everything except perhaps writing. What good was writing now?

After seeing the way Merle put away his food with such gusto, Andrea was no longer hungry and set her fork down. With an obvious glance down at her plate, Merle began to speak, but Andrea tipped her pancakes on top of what remained of his breakfast and watched him scarf those down as well. His appetite certainly grew since the last time she had seen him, but given that he had lost weight, she didn't see how that added up.

"How long were you traveling before they picked you up?" she asked him as an attempt at small talk.

Resting his elbows on the table, Merle stirred the pancakes in a circular motion to sop up all of his syrup while contemplating. "Let's see now, um…maybe three or four days. I don't rightly remember; I was nearly dead, remember? I was as messed up and light headed as you when I found you the other day, but after a few weeks in rehab I was as good as new. They got a forger here, damn handy when it comes t'all things metal and the Gov had this device fashioned for me." He extended his handicap out for her to see properly.

"You seem to have coped well enough," said Andrea. "Taking out three walkers on a rifle with your left hand as your dominant, you're nearly as good now as you were with your right."

"Nearly," said Merle and the grin faded from his face slightly. "Is that what y'call the biters, then? Walkers? Who came up with that term?"

"It doesn't matter," said Andrea, thinking that now was not a good time to bring up the subject of Rick with the way Merle was feeling about his lost appendage.

"I saw your friend take out her two _walkers_ right b'fore I crept up on ya. Dunno who taught her t'swing a sword like that, but she's better'n half the guys we got swingin' bats, I'll tell ya that. And as for you…"

"I can't use the sword," Andrea admitted. "But I'm a pretty good shot. Shane coached me. I'm adequate with almost anything you put in my hands."

"I'd like t'see that," said Merle, raising an eyebrow.

Was he mocking her or did he actually believe it? She didn't have time to respond, for at that moment Michonne returned with Shupert about fifty feet behind her. As per usual since arriving, Michonne's brow was furrowed and her lips looked pouty as she scowled at Merle who was in her seat. She said nothing but the death glare she was giving him spoke for her and Merle held up his arms in surrender.

"All right, I'm leavin', I'm leavin'."

His knee nudged Andrea's leg as he stood up, but before leaving he leaned over her chair to say quietly so that Shupert couldn't hear. "If you ladies would like t'have the feel've a weapon in your hands again you're more'n welcome t'join me at the gates and keep an eye out f'biters. Target practice might do the two've you some good. First come, first served. Y'all have a nice mornin'." He scooped up his tray and went to empty the dishes in the back washroom, leaving Andrea and Michonne to consider his offer.

"Don't go," said Michonne once Merle had walked off towards the gates.

"Why not?" Andrea demanded. "The Governor wonders how it is that we lasted this long and I'm sure most people consider it to be dumb luck. No one knows how well we can handle our weapons because none of the civilians are allowed to be armed inside the gates. If we spot some walkers on that wall we could show those men our skills and maybe earn the right to carry out weapons. Right now we're being treated more as honored hostages because no one knows what to make of us, but if they see what our capabilities are, we might get some respect."

"It doesn't matter what they think of us," said Michonne angrily. "I don't plan on staying around long enough to earn nobody's respect. As soon as the doctor clears you, we're leaving."

Deciding that now was a good time to start fighting back, Andrea pushed her tray aside so that she could lean in closer and whisper to Michonne. "I'm not ready to leave. I don't care if there is something off about the Governor or the people; we need time to recuperate and heal properly before we even think about going back out there again. I'm not in a rush and you shouldn't be either."

"I think you want to stay to get friendly with that one-handed sarcasm bucket," snipped Michonne.

"Well, I think you're just pouting because you want your katana back," Andrea retorted.

Michonne's fists bawled over the armrests on her seat, but the next words that came out of her mouth were honeyed in hate. "Don't tell me that you didn't see the way he's been looking at you ever since you got here. He pointed me away with his pistol after you fainted and picked you up with his hand and then he slung you over his shoulder like you were a leather jacket. His buddies made me walk ahead back to the vehicles and I climbed into the seat behind you, but he sat down right next to you, put that blindfold over you and took your temperature every five minutes from what I could see until they blindfolded me too. You can't sit there in all your arrogance and tell me that that's just good-citizen-ain't-got-no-feelings-for-you touching going on. He couldn't keep his hands—his _hand_ off of you and I'll be damned if he don't want you warming his bed."

Appalled at Michonne's blunt manner, Andrea had half a mind to slap her across the face, but she couldn't because she knew it was the absolute truth. Even before the rooftop in Atlanta, she had known that Merle was making advances towards her and while she was out cold, it was no surprise that he had taken it upon himself to do the heavy lifting alone. Whether or not this demonstrated an infatuation or general concern remained to be seen. The fact that Merle's actions were crystal clear to Michonne didn't bother her because her friend was highly suspicious and incredibly observant, two qualities she doubted most of the people in Woodbury had.

Andrea could fix this misunderstanding with one simple conversation. All she needed to do was approach Merle and tell him to back off. The difficult part would be anticipating his reaction. A softer man he may be now, but Andrea doubted that his temperament _or_ his temper had changed in the past year, even if he was humbled by his handicap and his inability to snort.

"That's what I thought," said Michonne in a self-satisfied tone when Andrea had no rebuttal.

"I can see it as plainly as you can, but I'm not leading him on. He has never gotten any sign from me and I'm not about to give him one now. I'll settle this my own way, but I need you to understand things from my perspective, Michonne. Merle and his brother were valuable assets to our group in Atlanta. They hunted, they stood watch, and they provided manpower that helped us get out of the city while we still could. It's not just that episode back in the woods that I have to thank him for, but I think verbal gratitude should be enough to satisfy his needs because I doubt very many people have told him that."

Andrea left Michonne at the table as she carried her empty tray to the back room and started off at a brisk pace towards the gate where she could see at least eight men pacing the walls with heavy artillery resting on their shoulders. The heat of the day had not yet begun to kick in, but flies were already going about their business, landing on the guards' heads and causing irritation. Merle was seated on a stack of tires with an M4 Assault Rifle resting against his leg as he scanned the ground below.

"About that target practice," called Andrea, shielding her eyes so as to look at Merle without the glare from the sun overhead.

"Eh-hey, Blondie! Come on up."

As Andrea started up the ramp to the top of the wall, she heard one of the guards whisper a note of warning to Merle. She only caught fragments, but was certain that "not supposed to", "some deep shit", and "under observation" were not phrases that any good could come from. Merle, however, ignored the guard and handed his rifle over to Andrea.

"Call your shots, and y'better be quick 'cause the rest've the fellas are liable t'take all the good ones."

She couldn't help but notice that she was getting less than welcoming glares from the other guards, but chose to ignore them. Waiting was dull; the sun climbed higher into the sky and started to bake her face and the flies feasted on her sweat, but she refused to complain, knowing that the men were just waiting for her to show some sign of weakness to call her out on. At long last, after what seemed like a good two hours she spotted a walker bumbling out from the treeline.

"I got it," she shouted before the other men could speak up, but as she settled the rifle into the crook of her shoulder it was suddenly snatched away by Shupert who dug a thick, dirty finger into Merle's wife beater in accusation.

"Governor told you not to arm 'em and when he finds out about this, he's gon roast you alive."

"Gov told _you_ not t'let 'em outta your sight, so how's that workin' out for ya?" asked Merle, standing his ground against the taller (and admittedly much larger) man. "She ain't hurtin' no one and b'sides, if she's as good a shot as she claims t'be, we could use her. Women in this place need an example so that they all don't turn into bigger sissies than they are now."

Andrea leaned around Merle and saw Michonne standing at the bottom of the ramp with her hands placed on her hips in disapproval.

"She don't get a gun," said Shupert firmly, rounding on Andrea. "You get your ass down off this wall now if you know what's good for you, woman."

"Excuse me?" said Andrea. "I was under the impression that I could go where I wanted as long as I didn't cause a ruckus."

"What d'you call this here?" Shupert demanded.

"Wasn't nothin' 'til you came over and started bitchin' 'bout it," Merle snapped.

Andrea yanked the M19 handgun out of the holster at Merle's side, cocked it, and spotting the walker now almost at the gate, let off the round straight into its right ear. It leaned sideways with the force of the shot and then toppled onto its side. All eyes were once again on her but she detected a different attitude behind them and it was not anger.

"Damn," said Merle, blowing air out through his mouth. "You weren't lyin', were ya?"

"I said, get down off the wall," growled Shupert, unimpressed. His thick, meaty hand closed around Andrea's arm, but she pulled back and made him take an ungainly step forward so that she was able to slip out of his grasp.

"Do _not_ touch me," she said irately, but as she stepped nimbly out of his reach, she felt a rush of dizziness in her head and clasped a hand to her temple. Her legs wobbled and she found herself falling backwards off of the wall. A hand clamped down tightly around her forearm and reeled her back in where she went to her knees and vomited.

Voices mixed and mingled above her, but she understood none of them until a female voice penetrated the clash of male ones. "Guess that medicine didn't do all it was supposed to," said Michonne softly. "C'mon, let's get you back in to see that doctor."

"I'll take her," Merle offered, but Michonne cut him off almost instantly.

"She ain't dead or dying and she can walk. She walked for close to twenty miles while stuck with the flu, now let her be."

"I said I'd take her, not carry her," Merle replied heatedly.

"We don't need an escort, we've got one already," snapped Michonne, helping Andrea to stand up. Andrea leaned against her, nervous that the movement might cause more vomit to spew out of her mouth, but having her arm slung around her friend helped with the nausea. She didn't have the strength to tell Michonne off and she didn't want to risk opening her mouth, so she shuffled very slowly down the ramp and headed off towards the medical building with Michonne at her side and Shupert in their wake.


	3. Chapter 3: Dead Stacking

**I'd like to make the note here that this story will be told from multiple points of view (hopefully just three and you can pretty much guess who after this chapter). Certain viewpoints can take place one after the other, at the same time, within a few hours or a few days of each other, but I'll try to keep that clear. Thanks for the reviews so far; they fuel me to pump out more chapters with fresh ideas!**

**DARYL:**

If one thing could be said for Daryl in opposition to the others it was that he didn't get nightmares. The fact that he had seen just as many if not more terrors than the rest of them didn't matter and neither did his abused childhood. He almost would have welcomed a drunken high-tempered Merle to the world for what it was now. Almost. After losing Sophia, holding out hope for his brother seemed to be pointless and stupid. If he was completely honest with himself, he believed that Merle had bled out just like Rick predicted and was now either lying as a rotting corpse in some Atlanta alleyway or else walking the never-ending roads that walkers roamed in death. If the latter was the case, he knew that a druggie Merle was a better Merle, but if he was dead and gone (by means of biting the proverbial bullet), he was better off. True, he had most likely died feeling utterly abandoned, enraged, and helpless, but at least now nothing surreal or otherwise could hurt him. Drugs had been his downfall and according to Rick, part of the reason that he had had to be chained to the rooftop in the first place.

_According to Rick_.

Daryl deposited a walker body in the slowly growing pile of corpses and dabbed at his sweaty forehead. He picked out Rick dragging another body towards the pile with Carol not far behind lugging one of the smaller bodies. T-Dog was halfway across the yard rolling quite a large inmate in his direction and at the opposite end Glen and Maggie had two more bodies in tow.

T-Dog and Glen had been on the roof with Merle, had left him with the only intention on their minds as being one to save their own asses. Morales, Jacqui, and Andrea had left him as well, but Jacqui was dead, Morales most likely gone as well, and Andrea unaccounted for, though after eight months, it was highly unlikely that she was alive. He could forgive her and the others to an extent, but Rick…he had written Merle's death sentence the second he snapped the cuff around his wrist. That was unforgivable, irredeemable.

Rick was the forerunner of the group, the glue that kept them going with his ability to keep them safe—for the most part anyway. He considered Daryl as a friend, a fellow fighter, and Daryl felt the same, but that hate and uncontrollable rage he had first felt upon seeing Merle's severed hand had never completely gone away. Not a day went by where he didn't think of his brother and with those thoughts returned the shadowy fury that he could not force his heart to suppress. No matter how hard he tried, he could never absolve Rick of that crime.

But no one need know that. They were all pretty content letting him keep to himself and deliver only anger as an emotion. Besides, there was quite enough drama going on without him adding his own personal feelings to the mold.

"Nearly halfway done," said Rick, huffing as he tossed a guard's body onto the mound, sweat dripping from his pointed nose.

"Great," said Daryl sarcastically, wiping his face clean of all emotion in expertise fashion.

"We'll stop for lunch in about an hour, pick up after we check up on Hershel," Rick added as the others began to join them. "He was sitting up when we left, so he's probably sleeping right now, but it's a small comfort. He bled out a lot and it'll be a while before he's able to move around, which leaves us plenty of time to fashion him some crutches and maybe some sort of peg leg device."

"And by us you mean me," Daryl guessed. He doubted whether anyone here knew how to carve even a square block out of wood or metal.

"We'll try to help you as much as we can, but it might turn out that we're more of a hindrance."

"I think we should take the bodies from the main courtyard and drag 'em halfway to this pile so that we're not making as long of a trip," suggested T-Dog when he had joined them.

"Makes no difference," said Daryl unhelpfully. "We gotta drag all these poor sons a'bitches to this pile anyway."

"Thank you for the optimism," said Maggie with a sharp exhale.

Shrugging, Daryl started off to pick out another body but this time Carol walked behind him. Sensing an emotional heart-to-heart, he quickened his pace and had already started lugging another inmate towards the heap when she joined him and took hold of the legs. He was thankful for the help, as it was less strain on his back, but he knew that she was buying her way into a conversation with this favor and he wasn't looking forward to it at all. Once they had added the inmate to the pile Carol turned those ever-saddened eyes on him. He had called it.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing more'n usual," said Daryl dismissively.

"You're pretty good at hiding emotions, but you can't keep that tone out of your voice and you've used it too often for us not to notice when something's bothering you, so what is it?"

"It's not your business, that's what it is."

"So it's Merle."

_Points for being spot on but a penalty for nosing into affairs that don't concern you_, thought Daryl. "Oh, c'mon," he said with a scoff, "I know you think 'bout your husband and Sophia every day, so what's wrong with me thinkin've my brother? Y'know what happened t'Ed, hell, you're the one who made sure he wasn't gonna come back, and we left Sophia at the farm, but I don't even know what the hell happened t'Merle and I'm not gonna lie and say that don't piss me off a bit. If I knew, it wouldn't be this hard, but I don't, so just let it alone and don't push it all right?"

"Okay, that's fine," said Carol evenly, showing her palms in defeat. A long time ago she might have burst into tears or walked away with a trembling lip, but the winter had hardened her and Daryl suspected for the better. "I never said it was a bad thing; I just wanted to make sure that I did all I could if it was something I could help with. Sorry."

"Yeah, me too," said Daryl a bit sheepishly. Blowing up at people for no reason was one of his many flaws that he was working on.

"It's back to work then?"

"Yup."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Dinner was not a subdued affair by any means but Daryl did not participate because he was on duty. He snacked on a rope of very stiff licorice as he patrolled the walkway above the first floor and watched the yard from the window. He could see the bodies still smoldering away and was sure that the smoke would spread which was something that he had pointed out to Rick before setting the walkers on fire, but the former sheriff was not to be swayed in his decision.

A nasty feeling in the back of Daryl's head told him that there would be some sort of hell to pay for exposing themselves with the smoke, but there was nothing he could do about it now other than wait and perhaps pray, not that it would do any good at this point. The damage was done and the danger was inevitable.

Maggie took over for him nearly two hours later from what he could tell of the positioning of the moon. Despite the exhaustion of the day and his body's yearning for sleep, Daryl's mind was restless and he needed to deal with his jitters before he could retire. Rick had made the strict rule that no one was to leave the cell block after nightfall for security reasons.

_T'hell with that_.

Confident that Maggie would not rat him out, Daryl inserted the key into the block door and swung it open just far enough to squeeze through. He silently thanked the oiled hinges for not giving him away and with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, he crept back out into the courtyard. There was a refreshing mid spring breeze drifting low over the prison, but that brought about the stench of the dead so that the sensation was ruined with the stink of rotting flesh and blood. Some of the walkers that had been watching them and trying to claw their way through the fence as they piled up bodies earlier were still at the fences, bumping into one another and occasionally giving the metal links a tug.

Daryl unsheathed his hunting knife and strode over to the nearest walker which immediately raised an ugly head and began to growl, reaching filthy fingers through the fence to scratch at him. He stuck his blade between the walker's eyebrows with a ferocious intensity and as it fell he demanded an answer of it.

"Where is he, you bastards?"

No answer came, not that he had expected it to, but asking it seemed to relieve some of the weight of the burden. It had been so long since he had spoken to anyone about Merle and Daryl suspected that they may have even forgotten him, so no one could share in carrying this. Under cover of darkness he could take out his frustration little by little on the damned until hopefully the pain faded away into nothing more than a memory. Night was his shield and his savior until such a time came that he could accept the fact that his brother was dead.

**is my normal pace for when I have some good ideas going, but I do tend to get brainfarts in the first quarter or midway through and I'm not even at that point yet, so please bear with me! Thanks so much for all of your feedback!**


	4. Chapter 4: Heavy Consequences

**MERLE:**

One time he had been one of the best scroungers in the business and he accredited his abilities to the unstable factors in his childhood, but at least they came in handy at some point. He had to make sure that Dr. Stevens had gone home before he could risk sneaking into the medical building and snitching the bare minimum of supplies that he needed. If she found anything missing, the Governor would be the first person she informed and he would know that it was Merle who took them. Sneaking around was much harder to do with bruised ribs and a swollen eye, but he managed all the same and crept back to his room in the building next door without detection.

As he clumsily unscrewed the cap to a tube of Neosporin he scowled to himself. He knew Andrea was being held in the medical building again and that her friend had been sent back to the room they shared, but the sharp, defensive mode she had taken on when he offered to help Andrea earlier still made him swell with anger. Hell, was it that bad of a thing to want to walk a vomiting woman to the doctor to get her checked out?

_Your own fault for invitin' her up onto the wall, dumbass_. His intentions had been good though. He really did want to see if Andrea was as good of a shot as she boasted and it turned out she was, so the other men would surely see that and consider her as an asset if she ever recovered from this nasty flu she had contracted.

Even Merle had to admit that she made it much farther than he would ever have thought possible, especially since she was just another woman with a gun she didn't know how to use the last time he had seen her. _You were high as shit and burnin' with a temper hotter'n the sun,_ he reminded himself. Now after close to eleven and a half months without any form of drugs and only an occasional cigarette to keep him occupied, he could be honest and say that his temper had softened somewhat when it came to certain things. He was liable to still get up in someone's face if they threatened or insulted him, but for the little things, he could mostly keep his emotions under wraps and Andrea was proof of that.

His first reaction at her sunken-in face looking up at him in terror was that of shock and painful recollection which had quickly given way to relief and curiosity. If she had lived, perhaps Daryl had as well. She was the only link he had to Daryl now and he needed her if he ever hoped to get any closer to discovering what had become of his little brother and even the Governor had to understand that. All the same, Andrea was already proving to be a bit of a hiccup in his plans.

He didn't see the harm in letting her cap off a round into a biter's head, but damn Shupert had to go and open his fat mouth about _not following the rules_. Rules were everything in Woodbury and especially for men, breaking them meant grave consequences. Upon his arrival in the town, he remembered the doubt on Dr. Stevens's face about whether or not he would survive, but once it became clear that he was going to pull through, the Governor was quick to lay down the rules from A to Z. Merle had had to be taught, reminded, and hounded on the rules for weeks before the Governor was satisfied that he wasn't going to cause any discrepancies but even then there had been a few instances where Merle crossed the line.

Having Andrea around had already cost him, but it couldn't be helped. Not only was she the key to discovering Daryl's whereabouts, but she was also the cause of a stirring in his chest. Still, after accepting the fact that she and the other Atlanta survivors had met their deaths long ago, he found himself lusting against his better judgment. She had scorned him once (though that incident had been entirely the fault of crack) but perhaps if she saw that there actually was a somewhat decent man underneath all the talk and sarcasm, she might reconsider his offer. It would make the other men accept her a hell of a lot faster and get the Governor off of her back.

But there was still the problem of the other woman who it seemed did not have the capability to smile or wear anything less than a grimace. If she couldn't be persuaded to cut her hissy fit out and accept Woodbury for what it was, there would be nothing Merle could do to prevent the inevitable. Andrea trusted her friend more than she did him and if the katana-wielding-wonder decided to leave, Andrea would follow and Merle's chances of finding Daryl would walk right out the gate.

He cursed under his breath as he applied more Neosporin to his eye and then pressed it to the cold steel that made up the frame of his bed. What he wouldn't give for a pack of ice right now…

He wasn't immune to pain, something he had discovered fairly quickly while sitting forsaken on that damn rooftop, but for some reason these wounds hurt worse than all of his recent injuries combined. Perhaps it was because of the lengths he had gone to obtain them that made them so painful. The best that could be said of the ordeal was that it had been swift and not drawn out.

Merle reported to Milton's little lab setup at the Governor's request to see Shupert standing beside the authoritative figure with a wicked smirk. He had known what was to come and disarmed himself to make it less of a temptation to fight back. The Governor was strong and precise and knew where to place his hits so that he only had to strike Merle three times to get his message across. The butt end of a rifle to the eye for urging Andrea to climb the wall; one kick to the ribs for giving her a weapon and one more kick in the exact same spot for making a scene of it. It was over almost as quickly as it began and Merle collected his weapons without a word. He ate his dinner in his room having taken half a loaf of bread and some beef jerky from the cafeteria before the real flow of traffic started to avoid awkward questions but in the morning he would have to face the town and there would be whispers as if there weren't enough of those circulating already.

Everyone in town knew Merle Dixon, the unstable cripple who bent to the Governor's will at the crack of a whip, but they had no idea what Merle was truly capable of. He didn't have to put up with all of this shit but he did because he needed to find Daryl and now that he had hope that his brother was alive, it was only a matter of time. He could put a buckshot through the Governor's good eye and be twenty miles away before anyone knew what was happening, but he would have to wait for that. Vengeance was best served cold.

Come morning, he would have to have an excuse ready for his swollen eye and slight limp if anyone asked. He planned to be at the medical building first thing before taking his watch on the wall so that he could be there when Dr. Stevens unlocked the doors before Andrea's friend got a chance to tell him off again. He'd check up on her, that's all. No one could blame him for that, could they? No one could make anything funny out of it. It was natural to visit with a person you had survived with, no matter how long ago.

Okay to visit, not okay to let walk on top of a damned wall. The Governor and his stupid rules. _Bastard_, thought Merle darkly as he set his head down on his pillow and bit back the moan of pain as his ribs protested his movement.

As he lay there in the semi darkness listening to the crickets outside, he considered telling Andrea the truth about his injuries. Maybe the truth would earn him some sympathy and that would break the mold of the awkwardness between them. By now she must know that he wasn't out for revenge, at least not against her, so perhaps if she knew that he had taken these wounds on her behalf her guilt might sway her into reconsidering him. Her remorse over leaving him atop the roof was present every time she looked at his arm attachment and though he was glad that she had sense enough to feel that, he didn't want it to last forever. Seeing her faint and vomit seemed to be enough compensation for the pain he had endured on the roof with having to saw through his wrist bone.

_Not quite_, he told himself. _You're always gonna hate her for leavin' with the others. Ain't no way to forgive that. Until she knows that pain, y'can't let it pass._

But what did that mean? Would he forever be waiting for the day when Andrea had to take a hack saw to her wrist or did that mean that he wanted to hear her scream, beg, and sob like he had in his most desperate hour? No, he couldn't wish that sort of pain on anyone except perhaps that asshole who cuffed him in the first place and maybe the Governor if that bastard didn't get off of his back. Andrea would have to suffer a different way, but he wouldn't intentionally cause her any pain. He would know it when it happened, but if it didn't, he just would never forgive her. No big deal…if he didn't want a relationship with her. It would be hell on both of them if something formed between them that was always marred by Merle's inner anger at her.

Hell, life was so much simpler when he wasn't in full awareness of it. Getting drunk just wasn't the same as getting high and the Governor did not approve of drunkards, so Merle would have to take a crowbar to his head and beat his own brains in if he didn't want to deal with the drama anymore.

He wasn't _that_ desperate.

Maybe a year ago he would have considered that, but he had been too weak to even hold a crowbar, slumped over on the ground just yards from where the stolen moving van had given out on the dirt road. He was broken then and now his wounds that had not yet faded to scars were still trying to stitch themselves back together. He enjoyed living most of the time and took pleasure in the simple things like holding an assault rifle and sticking his blade through a walker's nostril. No matter what it took, he wanted to hold onto that for a while longer.

The best course of action was to do nothing. Say nothing to Andrea, give the Governor no satisfaction, show no emotion. He was an expert at that as was Daryl. The Dixons knew emotion could get them into a world of hurt and God knew that Merle didn't need any more of that. Yawning, Merle blew out the candle at his bedside, groaning as he remembered that he had forgotten to unlace his boots. He thought very briefly of sitting up to take them off but remembered his ribs and was resigned to leave them on for the night. In perhaps five or six hours he would be up, waiting at the door for Dr. Stevens to let him in and the prospect of seeing Andrea's expression when she saw his face made him grin into his pillow before sleep found him.


	5. Chapter 5: Stolen Apology

**ANDREA:**

In one word, Merle looked like shit. Andrea didn't know how he managed to mess up his face in the half day since she had last seen it, but now it was an ugly swollen purple color with black and blue spots dotting around his eye which was shut at the moment. The light passing through the window caught his face and threw it into greater relief, but it looked better in the shadows. She felt queasy just looking at him, but knew how rude it would be to ask him to leave when he got up especially early to beat Michonne here.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Andrea as a conversation opener.

"Small mishap with some equipment," said Merle airily. "Doc Stevens pump ya up with more medicine?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's doing any good," Andrea responded, bringing the covers up to her chest. One second she was sweating like a stuck pig from her forehead and the next she would be trembling with chills. A bucket that had been set next to her bed overnight had vomit swirling around at the bottom and she felt embarrassed to have Merle standing above it with the smell wafting straight up into his face.

"It'll pass," Merle assured her. "I'dda brought you flowers or somethin' t'make the room less gloomy but the only flowers 'round here grow in personal gardens and takin' flowers is stealin' and stealin' leads t'punishment and well…y'get the idea."

_Flowers?_ thought Andrea incredulously. The Merle Dixon she remembered would never have offered to bring flowers to her sick bed. What sort of man was she dealing with?

"Do you normally get up at the crack of dawn to visit patients or is this a special occasion?" she asked, focusing on his right eye to avoid looking at the bad one.

"Well, I dunno if you've noticed, but your wordless female friend don't seem t'like me very much and my temper ain't much changed from what it used t'be, so I didn't want no confrontation this early. Partly my fault for you bein' here t'begin with. Sittin' out in the sun f'two hours in the heat couldn'ta helped with that flu. Least I can do is drop in."

"Knock it off," said Andrea with a moan, closing her eyes. The fact that Merle was apologizing made her feel uneasy. It was not at all like him (even though she reminded herself that she knew hardly anything about him) and his attitude was causing her stomach to twist into worse knots than they already were tied in. She smelled a sudden whiff of her own vomit and hastily scrambled to bend over the bucket before she emptied her stomach.

Merle's hand eased her back onto her pillow when she had finished and he used a damp cloth to wipe the dribble of saliva at the corner of her mouth, but Andrea pushed him away. "I'm fine," she said, annoyed. "This is nothing. It was worse out there."

"Why don't y'cut that high'n mighty shit out, huh?" said Merle, his tone taking a one-eighty in the opposite direction from where it had been heading moments before. "I know y'still look at me and think I'm lower'n the dirt on your shoes 'cause've what y'knew 'bout me b'fore y'left me on that rooftop, but I'm sick've bein' the scum everybody treads on. I survived, didn't I? That's gotta count for somethin' if I'm still here, not like Dale or Morales or your sister."

There it was. She knew his sympathetic speech about Amy had just been a ploy to make her give up information and see him in a new light. He didn't give a shit about Andrea's sister before anymore than he did now.

"You go to hell, Merle Dixon," she spat, turning away from him and his bruised face.

He left, cursing and muttering under his breath. A door slammed somewhere in the building and Andrea breathed a small sigh of relief as she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Having Merle in Woodbury would not help her cause if she wanted to convince Michonne to stay. If Merle was walking around, Andrea wasn't too sure that she wanted to remain within the walls. The man was just a reminder of all the negativity she had tried to leave behind. Losing Amy had been the first blow and Dale's death had caused her to go into a reckless mode of vengeance. That recklessness brought her to Michonne and Merle so that it was just a repeating cycle. Andrea would not go back down that path.

Michonne checked in on her about twenty minutes later but Andrea pretended to be asleep partly because she didn't want to face Michonne's accusing glares or hear her strongly opinionated suggestions about leaving but also because she didn't think she could stand to keep her eyes open and attempt to speak for one second longer. She wished that she could faint away again so that the pain would temporarily leave her body but at the same time she wanted her gun back so that she could hunt out Merle and shoot him in the ass for his cheap shot at Amy.

When she awoke from an extended nap she discovered Michonne once again at her side twirling what looked like a lily between her fingers. One of the petals was missing and Andrea had no difficulty guessing who her mystery deliverer was. She sat up, took the lily and squashed it in her fist angrily. Her actions seemed to confirm Michonne's suspicions as her friend took a seat at the foot of her bed, watching the door as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"I knew it; he came in to see you, didn't he?" she said accusingly.

"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?" asked Andrea, reaching for the cup of water beside her bed.

"It's true, isn't it? He came in before I got here and you two argued, otherwise that flower wouldn't be here. He took a risk plucking that from one of the gardens to smuggle it in here and hope the doctor didn't see. All I can say is he's lucky I saw it first and hid it from her. Word going 'round is that he got himself landed in some trouble with the Governor over what happened yesterday."

_Equipment mishap my ass_. It looked as if the Governor had carried out some sort of physical punishment on Merle just for letting her on top of the wall and if that was the consequence for such a small crime, Andrea wondered what something like stealing would merit from the torture chamber.

"He said some—things that upset me," said Andrea doggedly. "That's not a reason for not staying here, though, so don't get me started on that argument."

"It's a good enough reason if you haven't told him to back the hell off yet," said Michonne bossily, eyeing the fist that held the crushed lily.

"Well, sorry, but I've been a bit laid up and haven't gotten around to that yet, but I'll let you know when my schedule opens up."

"This must be a form of apology, then, and it looks like you're not too keen on accepting it." Michonne pried Andrea's hand open to look at the crumpled lily petals. "What did he say?" Her voice was gentler now and the descending pattern of her eyebrows lifted to give her face a kinder appearance.

Andrea spread the petals out onto her lap and twiddled the stem as she considered repeating Merle's words, but something held her back. She knew that Merle's anger was her fault for not telling him to keep his distance in the first place but also by denying his help. If she wanted a moment's peace within these heavily guarded walls she would have to make her intentions absolutely clear. Merle had been the mature one and apologized first—for the second time. Would she never get a leg up on him?

"I got a little short with him and in turn he got defensive. It was just a stupid argument, but we're okay now."

Michonne did not look convinced by any means. "No man sends a woman a flower as an apology unless he's got her on the brain. I'm telling you that man ain't good for you. He's the Governor's dog and just another plundering bastard whose only love is towards his gun. He'll hurt you and leave you for dead if you get too involved with him."

"Oh, will you just _stop_ it already?" said Andrea wearily. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but I'm sick, not stupid and I can handle myself around someone with one hand. If anyone tries anything I've got the town's support as long as I don't cause any trouble, so if you want to have that sense of security, you'd best start making some friends besides me because right now I'm pretty sure everyone's fed up with your stink-eye act."

She had struck gold when she mentioned Michonne's lack of friends, but the resulting expression only made the tension in the air grow. It was a wonder that the two of them, alpha females, had not resorted to throttling each other over the winter. Where Andrea had faults, Michonne demonstrated strength and vice versa. Michonne did not make friends easily, or so she told Andrea, (not that that couldn't be guessed by her charming personality) and ever since arriving in Woodbury, she had taken to lurking in corners and avoiding contact with the townspeople. With the exception of Andrea, Michonne was alone and it was starting to wear on her.

"Well, you get cozy with your new boyfriend, but I'm getting the hell outta here," she said coldly, stalking towards the door.

"Those walkers you killed," called Andrea in an attempt to bring her back, "they were your family weren't they? Even though they were walkers, you kept them with you because you couldn't bring yourself to let them go." Michonne paused at the door and Andrea continued talking even though it hurt her head and her throat. "I don't presume to know what you went through before we met, but you know exactly what happened to me and who I lost. I'm not trying to form anything with Merle especially when I know little beyond his last name and his use of drugs, but he and I have a connection in that we both are still grieving over our siblings. I don't intend to let the relationship go beyond that, but I'm not going to be a bitch when I can make something better out of the situation."

Michonne turned back around, arms folded and lips pursed, but Andrea knew she had won. "Please, Michonne, stay here. I don't want to leave just yet, but you're all I have and if you leave that makes two of us empty-handed. You say you don't trust the people here; well, give me a chance to ask Merle a few questions and if his heart's in the right place, he'll give me the answers I want. I can be persuasive that way."

"How long?" asked Michonne.

"Enough time to figure out where we are on the map, where we want to go, and what chances we stand of getting there. We'll need supplies and I need to brush up on my shooting. I'm sure that if you asked, the Governor would give you a compensation weapon inside the walls to practice with as well. If it turns out that we stand a chance of making it on the outside, we'll leave, but there is a very likely possibility that Woodbury is the only stable location on this side of the states."

"Well, I'll be praying for the former," said Michonne and swept from the room.

Andrea settled back into her pillow, gathered up the petals and stem and tucked them into her sock. _Such a price to pay as compensation for a simple word._

**Please continue reviewing—you all rock! Hope everything's running smoothly; had a small mishap with the chapters earlier.**


	6. Chapter 6: Forms of Persuasion

**MERLE:**

He never could stand the high-pitched screaming of kids throwing tantrums and had been quick to squash the habit out of Daryl at a young age, but in Woodbury, there were at least ten children, half of them toddlers and the day was never complete unless some four-year-old threatened to shatter Merle's eardrums. Didn't parents know how to keep their kids' damn mouths _shut_? It was the apocalypse and noise was asking for a bite in the ass.

The Governor was to blame for that. It hadn't been spoken aloud for the town's ears, but in the privacy of the weapons utility shed there might have been a heavily weighted suggestion that repopulation was the order of the day. It was the Governor's goal to"_take back what's ours"_ and that meant rebuilding. The forty-odd women in Woodbury were mostly married, but a few were single and the men had eyes on several of them. Six women were expecting; their husbands all had been approached by the Governor on the side and Merle knew that persuasion had gone well beyond just words for a few of them. It was only the establishment of opening conversations that prevented the remaining single women from aiding in the growth of the town's population. Crowley had called dibs in the shed on a young woman no older than twenty-three whose name Merle never could remember and Tim was already at the flirtatious stage with Shelly who helped out at the nursery.

But there were two new and completely unspoken-for women, though that wasn't likely to last for much longer. He had heard Shupert going into very vivid detail of his claim on the woman named Michonne just that morning and Merle actually sympathized with her if Shupert eventually got his way. Then again, he only slightly pitied the big man for what he would get if he tried to put the moves on that woman. Merle had seen her with her beloved katana and he didn't doubt that she could pull off a miraculous demonstration with anything she could get her hands on. She had her shit together and could fend for herself, no problem, no worries.

Andrea was a different matter. She had skills with artillery, but hand-to-hand was an entirely separate issue. He had first noticed Martinez eyeing her when she sat atop the wall and his eyes never left her rear end. In comparison to most of the men on the fence guard, Martinez was small, but the Governor approved of his brutal handling of walkers for sport and that could not bode well for Andrea at all. Andrea had been the main topic of conversation in the shed the past few days and even the Governor made a few rather disturbing comments all the while with an expression that Merle didn't like one bit. The Governor had made it known that his wife was very submissive and that was what had led to her death early on after the outbreak. Now he was hinting at finding a very strong and independent companion which fit Andrea's description perfectly.

She might have been better off puking in the underbrush where Merle found her. Bringing her back here into the spotlight for the hungry eyes and lusting hands of a host of love-starved men earned him extra points in the asshole category. If Andrea left with Michonne, she most likely would be dead within two weeks, but if she stayed she wouldn't be much better off. Unless…

"Keep your eyes on the ground, Lefty," snapped Gabe from Merle's right. Gabe was pushing two eighty and most of that was fat, though a considerable amount had to be muscle. He had the squashed appearance of someone who had run face-first into a wall and then had his features stay squished together. Every day he sweated enough to fill two eight liter cups and Merle often wondered how he hadn't lost some weight over the past year. Of all the fence guards he delighted in poking fun at Merle's missing limb most. The first time he had called Merle "Lefty" Merle had knocked out two of his front teeth, but the Governor forgave that act of hostility since Merle had been half delirious at the time. Now, however, Gabe knew he could get away with smack talk and he used it at every possible opportunity.

Longing to shoot the flesh-colored beach ball the middle finger, Merle settled for cocking his rifle and shifting his weight to his other foot as he returned to observing the woods in the late afternoon sun. Gabe was an antagonizing snot rag and a bully, but for all his well-practiced antics, he would not goad Merle into reacting this time.

"Oops, I meant your _eye_," Gabe corrected with that smashed smirk of his.

It was true that Merle still couldn't open his eye due to the swelling, but after the loss of his good hand, the temporary loss of his eye was nothing. He didn't rise to the bait but tried to focus on the purple lily he had snatched from the Ross's garden while the owners were occupied elsewhere and if Andrea had received it. It was then that he realized that he had left it out plainly for Dr. Stevens to see and a horrible jolt in his gut made his blood run cold. How could he have been so stupid?

"How's your bitch doing?" called Gabe when Merle failed to react to his last insult.

"She ain't his bitch yet," said Martinez from behind Merle with a laugh. "That woman needs herself a man who's whole and unencumbered and that doesn't apply to Dixon at all."

Merle didn't know where the hell Martinez had learned the word _unencumbered_ but it didn't soften his slur in the slightest. Mouse-like in appearance, Martinez always had a nasty little sneer pulled to one side of his face and as Merle glanced over his shoulder at the younger man he had a sudden urge to carve out his mouth with his blade extension.

"If she survives this sickness she's got going on, we'll see who makes a real woman out of her," Martinez continued. "First one to the finish, Gabe?"

It was a good thing that the Governor called Merle away from his watch at that precise moment otherwise he was certain that he would have hacked off Martinez's prized possession, stuffed it in his mouth, and tossed him over the wall. Leaving the rifle atop the wall, Merle descended the ramp to where the Governor stood waiting for him.

"Any pain?' asked the dictator in an undertone.

"Some," Merle admitted woodenly, holding eye contact.

"Good. Serves as a reminder, doesn't it? Won't be too keen to break rules any time soon, will you?"

"Not likely."

"I've got a task for you, then. This farm your friend mentioned—the one where she last saw all of her companions—I want you to try and pry the information out of her on where it is. If it's still standing, I mean to find it and scavenge some more supplies. She said there was a herd, but I think it's safe to assume that most of them have cleared out by now. You get that info from her and you might earn yourself some redemption."

"What if she can't remember?" asked Merle.

The Governor gave a small shrug. "I have my ways of getting information out of people."

_Aw, hell._

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The Governor's wrath had not descended upon him for the day and so Merle could safely assume that Dr. Stevens had not found the lily on Andrea's bedside table, but he didn't want to count on that luck holding, so he dropped in about a half hour before closing time to pay her another visit and hope that she was awake this time. She was sitting up when he entered the room, which he took for a good sign, though when he saw that the lily was gone he felt a small amount of resentment. Couldn't he just catch a break with this woman?

"Still feelin' dizzy?" he asked.

"Haven't thrown up since you left," Andrea responded lightly.

"Not sure'f that's a good thing or not, but for argument's sake, let's say it's good." He knew the time for being polite and treading carefully around her was over. She knew him as well as he would ever let her and there was no use hiding anything from those piercing blue eyes. Pushing her legs over underneath her bedcovers he took a seat at the foot of her bed, resting his left hand beside him.

"Didja get it?" he asked in a low voice so that it wouldn't carry to the next room. Andrea nodded but didn't say anything, so he plunged into it. "I dunno what else y'want from me, woman. I'dda thought you'd at least be grateful that I didn't blow off a cap in your skull or leave ya t'puke your guts out, but I don't think I'm winnin' this war here. I had every right t'just leave your ass out by that crash and maybe even stake your legs into the ground so that y'couldn't go nowhere, but I didn't. Why? 'Cause I know a thing or two 'bout forgiveness, but I don't think you know how t'work that for y'self since you're leadin' a piss-poor attitude 'gainst me for somethin' hell knows what that I did. Can y'just cut me a break? I'm doin' the best I can, damn it."

It took a moment, but a frown slowly started to appear on her face. "All right, I'll give it to you straight out right here," said Andrea, sitting forward. "I'm not blind and I know telltale signs when I see them. You haven't changed much since the rooftop, Merle Dixon. The only difference between that man and you is that you aren't high and you don't have your right hand. I don't believe that you've learned humility or forgiveness or anything else you boast about. You've been putting on a mask every time you come to talk to me, but you're wearing it for your friend the Governor. You're just his bitch now, tending to dirty work that he's too scared to put his hands into. Well, I've got news for him and for you; I am not a brainwashed plaything and I don't plan on being owned like most of the people here. Don't pretend to give a damn about me when all you really want is information. The second I give that information up, I'm no longer of any value, so I'm getting the hell out of here while I can and if you stand in my way I'll put a buckshot through your ugly face."

_Hot damn_. Merle knew that Andrea had a dormant but nevertheless burning fire within her but to see it come out now in defense against him was a bit offsetting. It wasn't a good sign that she already knew the Governor's motives, but that didn't mean he had to admit to it. She was lying about something and two could play at that game.

"He won't let y'leave, Blondie," said Merle, leaning closer to her so that there was less than two feet between them. "Y'spilt the beans when y'let slip that there are _others_ and there ain't no takin' back whatchoo said. Until y'give the Gov what he wants, you ain't goin' nowhere, so might as well get comfy 'cause you're gonna be here a while."

Andrea's hand shot out and she smacked him hard across the face. Her palm left his skin smarting ever so slightly.

"Don't test me, you son of a bitch," she warned. "Harridan or bitch, whatever you call it, I'm not the one to mess with. I don't want anything to do with you or any of your mercenary buddies who presume to call themselves men."

"Tell that to the guys that're out on the wall wonderin' how good y'are in bed."

This time Merle was ready and he blocked her slap with his forearm, trapping her right hand in a firm grip. Scooting forward quickly, he caught her other hand between his knees before she could use it and then sat down across her legs. It was the most awkward position for attacking someone he had ever seen or indeed been in, but he had her immobilized.

"Now you listen here, woman," he growled as she twisted her wrist around to try and break free from his grip. "Someone's gonna get that information outta you and I'm prob'ly the only one who's gonna do it in a nice way, so you can be a good girl and tell me, or wait for hell t'descend on your pretty lil' head. Governor ain't phased by gettin' what he wants however he needs to. He'll make y'scream, see'f he don't. Couple've the boys runnin' the wall security are placin' bets and wagerin' on who's gonna be the first t'slip you b'tween the sheets. Nothin's stoppin' 'em 'cept your illness and once y'lose that, _y'lose_."

Her eyes were focused on his and he knew he had her undivided attention now because she had stopped squirming. There was true revulsion on her face mixed with dread.

"If you was t'let it be known that you've got y'self hooked up with someone else, they—the Governor included—would back down and let you alone, but if not, y'got my sympathies." He let her go all at once and stood up. "Just somethin' t'think 'bout, Blondie."

Her face was one of dawning as he closed the door behind him.

****Random question, but are any of you listed as ohmerle on Tumblr? PM me if you are.**


	7. Chapter 7: Darkness Settles

**DARYL:**

He heard screaming somewhere in the foggy existence between dreams and reality and he knew whose it was. His heart leapt into his chest and before he was even completely awake he reached for his crossbow which he kept no further than a foot away from his mattress. He sat up with the blood rushing to his head and his legs performed a wild acrobatic act as he struggled to gain footing on the steep metal staircase. On the verge of face planting, he jumped the last few steps and landed catlike on the floor before rushing towards the cell that Lori and Carol shared. He was not the only one who had been jolted awake from the screams, for Beth, Maggie, and Carl stood around the door while Rick and Glenn helped Hershel to hobble into the cell. From within Daryl could hear Lori panting heavily and knew instantly what the screaming had been about.

"Hershel's here now, Lori," said Carol soothingly.

Daryl tugged on Carl's sleeve and motioned to the cell block door where T-Dog stood guard. "Go over with Tee, y'don't need t'see this."

"She's my mom," said Carl flatly.

"She's in good hands, Carl, go on," said Beth comfortingly. "We should all clear out so that she can get some air."

Carl looked to be on the verge of protesting, but his words were cut off by the sound of gunshots from the prison yard. Movement ceased within the cell block; even Lori had gone quiet in response to the shots. Daryl looked to Rick who was standing over Lori on the lower bunk and saw that his friend was at a complete loss. The decision was clearly tormenting him as the self-proclaimed leader of their group: stay with his estranged wife or fulfill his duties and go investigate the source of the noise.

"Tee, you, me, Glenn'n Maggie are gonna go check this out while the rest've y'all stay here," said Daryl decisively. "Carl, guard the door 'till we get back. Rick, try'n keep that baby quiet when it comes. C'mon y'all, let's go."

"I'll help," said Carol, leaving Hershel's side. "Beth, stay here and help your dad."

Daryl shook his head. "No, we don't need your help. You stay here-,"

"I'm coming," said Carol in a final sort of way, equipping herself with her pistol and a thin metal skewering pole. She brushed past him and headed off towards the door where the rest of the fighting squad had gathered. Daryl swore under his breath and tramped off to lead them out. He took her aside and told her in very firm voice, "I don't' need nobody gettin' lost out there, so y'do exactly what I say when I say it, got me?"

"I'm not the one you should be worried about. My head's screwed on right."

Unsure whether she had meant that as an insult or not, Daryl hurried to the front of the line again. They navigated the maze of passageways to the courtyard door which Daryl very slowly propped open just enough to see halfway across the yard. The moon was half hidden behind unseasonal storm clouds, which made it impossible to distinguish anything beyond the outer perimeter fence. Scanning the surrounding area for signs of the living or dead, Daryl motioned for T-Dog and Glenn to follow him. They hugged the wall, sidling along side by side until they ran out of wall and were forced to creep into the open yard.

"I can't see a damn thing," said T-Dog in an undertone as he and Glenn squatted down to present less of a target of themselves.

"Y'hear that?" asked Daryl quietly, pointing off into the middle distance to emphasize his point. Once was quite enough when it came to remembering the sounds of a reanimated corpse as it stalked closer and closer. The memory would never leave him, not until the day he died. _Which might just be t'night_, he thought to himself as his eyes adjusted to the near darkness to see shapes looming towards their position and judging by the drunken stagger and the guttural groans, those shapes were not humans.

"How'd they get in?" whispered Glenn.

"Someone must've opened up the hole in the fence," replied Daryl. "There ain't no other way for 'em t'have come in. That's the only entrance on this side've the prison." The question was, _What sick, stupid son've a bitch would go'n do a thing like that?_ Who had fired the shots they heard? Questions left unanswered brewed in Daryl's head, but he pushed them aside, steeling himself for the task ahead. In Rick's absence, he had a responsibility to clear out the yard and make it safe once again, even if that meant battling walkers in the dark.

"Take them out quickly and quietly, I guess, huh?" said Maggie as she and Carol joined them.

"Thought I told the two've you t'stand guard at the door?" hissed Daryl.

"Must not have spoken clearly enough," Carol responded. "Let's just get this over with."

"Maggie and I'll help clear a path to the gate," said Glenn. "From there, the three of you can get over to that hole and patch it up again."

"Real smart idea, Einstein," Daryl scoffed. "Whoever cut it open the first time'll just do it again and we ain't even got somethin' t'patch it up with in the first place."

"There's some chain links in the truck," T-Dog recalled. "We can close up the hole with those if we can make it."

_If we can make it_. That sounded reassuring. Still, they didn't have much of a choice and the walkers were nearly within shooting distance now. Daryl consented and drew his knife. It would be nearly impossible using his crossbow in the dark and he wanted to clear out the yard without a sound being heard. Trying to remember if walkers could see well in the dark, he instructed Glenn and Maggie to cut left while he and Carol took the right to make way for T-Dog.

They moved swiftly, silent and accurately as they dispatched walkers in a stealth-like manner. It was difficult making contact with the walkers' skulls without proper lighting to guide their way and more than once Daryl felt a swooping plunge in his stomach when he thought he might miss his target and risk getting bitten. After his fifth walker he heard the groan of the truck as it sank into the soft ground slightly with T-Dog's added weight in its trunk.

"Move, let's go, let's go," he said in a harsh whisper to the others as they came together and jogged off towards the gate walkway where more walkers were converging on the vehicles. T-Dog swung his crowbar into one walker's ear and wrenched it out with a sickening squelch to put another walker down just feet away. Daryl thrust his knife upwards into a rather tall walker's jaw and pushed it aside to move onto the next. Behind him he heard Maggie's grunt as she swung her kukri in a giant arch.

T-Dog had the chains and went sprinting ahead to block off the hole before anymore walkers could climb through but the number of walkers waiting their turn to pass through the opening was too great to seal off and in the darkness Daryl knew that they would never be able to accomplish such a feat.

"Tee, leave it!" he called. "We'll close the gate and keep 'em in the pathway until the mornin', c'mon!"

Halfway to the hole, T-Dog made a wild turn-about and ran back towards Daryl with several walkers hard on his heels. Daryl had no reliable weapons to spare T-Dog some time and the sight of faceless monsters closing in made him spin on his heel and take off in a mad dash for the second gate that closed off the pathway. He had to use his crossbow as a makeshift battering ram as he ran, for several walkers remained that Glenn, Maggie, and Carol had not yet managed to beat off. Twenty feet shy of the gate he collided with Maggie and both of them went down on the gravel. Cursing for half the yard to hear, Daryl groped blindly for her arm. Instead she found him and hauled him to his feet, diving out through the gate jus as T-Dog and Glenn dragged it shut and began looping the chains around it to secure it.

Carol screamed.

Daryl saw her still battling inside the pathway with one walker, locked in hand-to-hand combat with the hulking figure. He threw himself at the chains and attempted to pry them open once again, but T-Dog held him back. Walkers clawed at them as they surged against the gate and Daryl broke free of T-Dog's grasp to run around to the side of the fence, hollering at Carol who had finally managed to shake off her opponent. On the opposite side of the fence T-Dog, Glenn, and Maggie were striking the fence with their weapons to create a distraction for Carol.

"Lock yourself in one of the cars!" Daryl shouted. "Carol, the _cars_!"

He drew walkers to him with his voice and his beating against the fence with his shoe but for all of his efforts, it made no difference. How could Carol have fallen behind? Why hadn't T-Dog or Glenn stopped to help her? How was it possible that they had closed the gate without knowing that Carol wasn't with them?

_The dark_, he told himself. _They thought Maggie had run out b'fore them and they assumed Carol was with me. They couldn't tell, couldn't see…_

"Carol!" Maggie screamed.

Separated from her only by the fence, Daryl could do nothing but watch as the walkers surrounded her in an unforgiving semi circle with her back pressed to the watchtower. Daryl could see half of her face, calm and ready. She put her pistol to her mouth and clamped down over the barrel with her teeth.

Daryl blessed the darkness for masking the blood that had surely burst from the back of her skull as she pulled the trigger. A ghostly echo of the shot carried on the still night air. The walkers fell upon her body, though she would never know that pain of being torn into thousands of fleshy scraps for the dead to feast on. Cold shivers ran up Daryl's spine, but his body did not react to them. He swayed on the spot, forcing himself to turn away and head back up the hill leading to the courtyard. Hell descended from the sky above as he listened to the sounds of Maggie sobbing back at the gate.

Alone in the courtyard, he came to a dead stop, fists bawled. The gunshots…the decision…the price…

He would have to face the accusing stares from the others at dawn, for there would be no more sleeping this night. He had no choice but to walk back into the cell block and tell Rick that he had failed to protect the group; the others would see that he was no leader and no man to take Rick's place. His one guaranteed ally was gone by no fault of Rick's. He, Daryl, had brought this down on himself for choosing to brave the night and face the unknown in the darkness.

Screams would not plague his dreams; dreams were a thing of the past to be replaced with nightmarish images of his friend forever blocked off from him by a metal fence.


	8. Chapter 8: World Beyond the Wall

**ANDREA:**

"And you're sure there's nothing I can do to make you change your mind?" the Governor offered. He almost looked sympathetic, genuinely sorry for Andrea's decision, but no amount of facial expressions could sway her in this decision. It didn't take long to fit the pieces together; she was only safe from a hands-off environment if she became Merle's bed warmer and if she refused his offer she would be forced to submit to one of the other men in some way. Woodbury had turned her into nothing but a play toy and she had to get the hell out while she still could.

"No, this is something that needs to be done," said Andrea while trying to keep a friendly grin on her face. "I can't thank you enough for all that you've done for us, but Michonne and I have a goal and we have to be out looking to accomplish that. I'm sure you'll understand."

The Governor nodded. "I sure can; you wanna find your group. If it was me, I'd wanna know what happened to them too. It's all I can do to keep Merle here 'cause he's almost dead set on following you to look for his brother. Between you'n me, I don't think that his brother's the only thing tempting him to follow you, but we need him here, so there'll be no following. I wish you ladies were staying; we could always use some female soldiers."

_Or whores to pass from man to man_, thought Andrea darkly, and yet some part of her could not help but trust the Governor as he tried one last time to persuade her to remain within the walls of the town. He may not know what his men wanted from her, but he knew that she was uncomfortable with the goings-on and she was at the very least thankful that he was allowing her to leave.

Michonne gave an impatient cough at the gate where Merle stood with her katana tucked under his arm and Andrea's pistol in his hand.

"Thanks again—for everything," said Andrea.

"Just trying to help where we can," said the Governor modestly. "All the best to you, Andrea."

She strode over to the gate and held out her hand expectantly for her pistol as Merle relinquished Michonne's sword. He was extremely reluctant to give up Andrea's weapon and she thought for a moment that he was going to refuse right in one, but then he placed it in her palm. As her fingers closed around the handle he leaned in to whisper words that only she could hear.

"You'll never make it. Y'know that now; it's a death sentence for two people on the run. Last chance t'walk 'way from the gate, Blondie."

That man had the _audacity_ to speak to her like that after revealing that he would be all too willing to make a whore out of her? If she wasn't concerned about what the Governor would do if she reacted, she would have left another bruise on Merle's face to add to his healing eye.

"I'll take my chances," she said coldly.

"Y'ain't got a chance once y'step foot outside that gate," said Merle and he sounded slightly desperate now. "My mouth may run and get me into trouble now and agin, but I ain't heartless. I only told ya that I knew how t'keep the rest've the fellas at bay; I never said that we actually had t'do it. No one would know what went on b'hind closed doors, even if it's nothin'."

"See, I might have believed that once, but not after that crack at Amy," said Andrea. "I hope you find Daryl someday, but know that I'm looking for him as well, so if we cross paths out there, don't think that anything good will come of it."

Merle looked as if he had lockjaw, but he finally released her pistol. "Good luck, then."

"Biters on the road," announced Crowley from above.

"How many?" asked the Governor.

"Maybe ten-,"

"I've got it," said Merle, switching his blade into attack mode so that it stuck outward. "Open the gate and I'll take 'em out."

Reckless, stupid, angry behavior. In his fury at Andrea, Merle was about to engage in combat just to relieve some of his pulsing emotions before he ended up taking out his frustration on one of the men inside the walls. That was one quick way to get himself killed and Andrea would not have his blood on her hands before leaving.

"You stay here; Michonne and I can handle the walkers ourselves. Consider it a parting gift." She swung her axe to emphasize her point, but Merle didn't even crack a smile.

"Get that gate opened, Crowley! These two're anxious t'be on their way!"

"That gate's not opening until you back the hell off," said Andrea with a definite tone of danger now. The man could be such an asshole sometimes and now was the most inconvenient time. Literally.

"Open. The. Gate."

"You heard the woman, Merle; she can handle herself," said the Governor. "Take up a position on the wall. That way at least you can fire off a round if it looks like they need help."

"Not even out the gate yet and y'already got biters on your ass," Merle spat at Andrea, ignoring the Governor. "Tell me one last thing b'fore y'leave, Blondie: y'wanna get outta here 'cause y'really wanna go lookin' for them bastards that left ya for dead or y'just wanna get 'way from me?"

"Gate's opening," Crowley announced.

Andrea saw the world for what it was opening up to her. It would be back to sleeping in shifts with a weapon in hand and an uneasy mind, scrounging for food and water, waiting for the inevitable while trying to hope for the best. Eight months of uncertainty separated her from the Atlanta group and with Lori being pregnant, with the tension between Shane and Rick, their chances for survival seemed unlikely at this point. There was nothing worth dying for out there as Michonne believed. Andrea had given up any hope of finding her friends within the third week of separation so that eight months seemed to be well beyond any sane thought. She had to be realistic, practical, and rational. It had been the same with Dale, harder with Amy, but letting them go was what had helped her move on and now was the time to move on from the group she knew had to be dead.

"Close the gate," she told Crowley. "Shut it."

Michonne gaped at her. "What the hell're you doing?"

"I can't," she said, faltering.

"Are you serious right now?" Michonne's expression was terribly confused and pained. The gate stood open, ready for her to amble out and go her own way like she had wanted since arriving, but she didn't want to leave Andrea after the tense but nevertheless firm bond the two had formed.

"It-it just doesn't feel right," said Andrea at last, trying to convey her apology in the best way she could.

Michonne took hold of her wrist and tugged ever so slightly. "You told me this morning that you couldn't stand to be here another minute. What happened to that determination? Don't tell me they got you brainwashed too, woman, because I won't hesitate to bitch slap some sense into you, now c'mon, this is our only chance."

Andrea leaned back to fight Michonne's powerful grip but her friend was a lot stronger than she looked and succeeded in pulling her at least two yards outside the wall perimeter before she could really dig her heels in. "Michonne, stop it! I want to stay."

"It's 'cause've _him_, isn't it?" Michonne demanded, eyes popping in rage as she glanced back at Merle who was standing in the open gateway. "You gonna take him up on that offer?"

"I'm not going back out there alone to look for something that I know is long gone," said Andrea firmly. "There's nothing worth looking for beyond these walls, not anymore. I can't stop you going, but you'll have to go without me if you do."

"Heads up, you two," called the Governor from within, pointing.

The walkers had spotted them and were now quickly shuffling towards them with the enthusiasm of something about to feed on a gut-bursting meal. Michonne released Andrea's wrist and unsheathed her katana. Back in her element, she struck quite the imposing figure as she held her sword in a defensive position to take out the walkers. Andrea took her axe in both hands and rested it upon her shoulder as she would a baseball bat, preparing to swing. The first walker went to Michonne who took off the top half of its head in one clean swipe. She wove right to deal with the walkers emerging from the treeline on that side of the road and Andrea cut left, catching a walker in an uppercut.

She didn't know what Crowley was smoking, but ten was a greatly understated number. There had to be closer to twenty-five walkers milling around the road which was more than she had bargained for. Clambering over the hood of one of the broken down cars, she had to sacrifice a bullet to take out a walker that was waiting for her on the other side. When she dismounted she caught another walker in the right cheek but before she could raise the bloodied axe again she felt something tug on her backpack and yank her backwards. Stumbling, she hit the ground on her back and brought the axe perpendicular to her body to shield herself from the walker behind her head that launched itself at her in an attempt to bite down on her stomach. With two fingers on the axe handle and the other three grasping her Beretta she tried to move the pistol so that it faced the walker's head, but the weight crushing down on her made it nearly impossible to hold the axe and gun at the same time.

Giving an almighty shout of strain, she threw the walker off of her and fired off another round into its teeth as she lay gasping for breath. A shadow blocked out the high noon sun above her and Merle appeared.

"Get up," he commanded. "There's more comin', get up."

Andrea stumbled to her feet, leaning on the car for support. More walkers were indeed coming, but she didn't think that she had the strength to face them after that last fall where she had definitely bruised her tailbone. Across the road Michonne kept plowing forward, further and further away from the town.

"Gate's still open; run for it," Merle instructed. When he saw that Andrea had not moved he gave her a shove. "Go on, I'll get her." He ran, slipping right between two walkers that were making for him and Andrea. He leapt up onto the hood of another car to hold the high ground and beat away two walkers before jumping off the other side and rushing towards Michonne. The trees and the car pileup blocked him from view.

Andrea picked up her axe and stepped nimbly out of a walker's reach as she raced back in the town's direction where the Governor stood stationed in the middle of the gateway with his thumbs in his pockets as if he was a spectator enjoying his favorite sport. She met him out of breath and clutching a stitch in her side.

"Glad you decided to stay," he said casually.

Squinting against the harsh daylight, Andrea tried to locate Merle and Michonne in the mass of vehicles and trees, but all she could hear were the sounds of an unseen battle. Then Michonne broke out of the woods with her katana held aloft while Merle covered her escape. He had blood coating the front of his gray wife beater, but Andrea couldn't tell if it was a splatter or a cut from this distance. She stepped out but the Governor took hold of her shoulder.

"Stay here," he said and it was not a suggestion. He was eying Merle suspiciously and his other hand rested on the pistol at his hip.

Michonne reached them first, her forearms as bloody as her katana, but she appeared to be unscathed. About thirty seconds after Merle joined them and Andrea saw that the blood was darker than human blood, rotten and purplish in color.

"Biter fell back ont'me and its brains leaked all over me," he explained. "Gotta burn the damn shirt now."

"Close the gate," the Governor told Crowley and Andrea's last glimpse of the outside was that of walkers moving as one giant mass towards the town just like the herd that had overrun the farm.

Michonne threw her katana down upon the ground and dropped to her knees, hands resting on her thighs. Andrea thought it best to leave her alone while her temper was so close to breaking point. She trudged over to a bench beside the wall and dropped her backpack onto the seat next to her. The axe rested across her lap dripping blood onto the grass. The decision had been made and now she had to own up to her choice. Michonne chose to stay with her out of loyalty and Andrea had to do what she could to protect her. This was Andrea's battleground where words were weapons to be used for or against them and one slip up could land them in the bed of someone they did not want to be with.

Her head still bent, she saw a pair of brown boots appear before her but she refused to look up and see that annoying all-knowing smirk on his face. "I hope you know this changes nothing," she said crossly.

"Sure it does," said Merle. "Changes your whole future. Y'got one now, don'tcha? Knew there was somethin' I could say that'd change your mind."

Andrea glowered at him. "You didn't have any part in it."

Merle shrugged. "Whatever y'say, Blondie, but I ain't the one who made the choice, so I ain't the one who's gotta be concerned now. What're y'gonna do 'bout the, uh, situation at hand?"

They had arrived at his proposal, but if that meant what he told her at the gate instead of what he had implied at her sickbed, there may just be some hope after all. As long as the others believed that she and Merle were an object, that was all that mattered and she need not actually go through with it. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"I guess you'll have to help me work that one out."


	9. Chapter 9: New Roommate

**MERLE:**

The look on Martinez's face when Andrea showed up at the building that housed Merle's room was priceless. She had her pack and her Beretta, courtesy of the Governor who had granted her and Michonne custody of their weapons inside the walls. Merle didn't know how the argument between the two women had gone down when it became clear that Andrea had to switch roommates, but there was just no getting around that little snag. He and Andrea had discussed it in private, the staging, the exchange of words, every little detail to make this go smoothly. One slip up and the game would be up; Merle would be exposed as a liar and his hopes of finding Daryl would go up in smoke.

Andrea looked more like she was attending a sleepover than actually moving in with him, but when she passed Martinez on the stairs to meet Merle outside of his room, Merle knew the man was sold. Now hopefully Martinez and Gabe would back the hell off and the Governor would leave the questioning up to Merle and Merle alone. It was all he could do to protect Andrea physically, though she would still have to battle with the notion that Michonne was now in a room by herself without anyone to speak for her.

Merle pushed the door shut with a little more force than was necessary so that the sound would be sure to carry to the men on the first level of the building. Andrea dropped her pack on the queen sized bed and immediately went to the window, pulling the blinds down slightly to get a good look at the neighboring building.

"I can see her room from here, that's good," she said mostly to herself.

"She's got her sword with her now," Merle pointed out. "Anyone who tries t'break into her room won't get far. I seen her take out them biters and she don't waste any time bullshittin'; she gets right to it."

Andrea stepped back and took in her surroundings which Merle was pleased to say were better organized than most of the single men in town. Neatness was never his forte, but he was always wary of anything that could trip him up and cause him to maim himself with his new blade attachment, so the floor was clear of litter and clothes. An armchair in the corner faced the door and beside it stood a wardrobe that had seen better days. The shower sitting caddy corner at the far side of the room was the same as every other one in town; a small tub with a curtain strung up around it where a showerhead had been haphazardly attached.

Merle held up his arms modestly. "Ain't much, but I'll betcha it's cleaner'n any other room in this building."

"Right," said Andrea vaguely. "Look, I want to make a couple things extra clear-,"

"Shh," said Merle, putting a finger to his lips. He knelt down in front of the door and came onto his stomach, pressing the side of his face onto the rug to peek between the floor and the bottom of the door. Seeing nothing, he gave Andrea the thumb up and pressed himself back onto his knees.

"You're gonna have t'keep it down in here; eavesdroppers are plentiful and the walls ain't that thick."

"So does that mean I'm demoted to whispering for the rest of my life?" said Andrea cooly, hands placed on her hips.

_Hell, even I don't plan on bein' here that long._

"No, if we wanna have a conversation that's extra secretive, we gotta go into the bathroom. To your right." This so-called bathroom was actually just a water closet in a five by four foot space perfect for one person but extremely cramped for two.

"Fantastic," said Andrea, sitting down in the middle of the bed with her back to him and combing her hair back with her fingers. "You have a rubber band or something?"

Merle dug around in one of the wardrobe drawers and eventually found a small bag of neon-colored rubber bands which he tossed to her, watching her pull her hair up out of her face and place it in a ponytail. _Now that looks like her_, he observed.

"So how does this work?" she asked presently, staring adamantly at the two crumpled pillows that until now Merle had all to himself and he knew she was not referring to who got which side of the bed.

"Well, how'd y'think it was gonna work? It's my room and I ain't sleepin' on the floor. You're more'n welcome to if y'want."

Judging by the look on her face, this was not what she had wanted to hear and she drummed her fingers against the bedspread. "This isn't a joke, asshole. You know how I feel about this—hell, we already talked about it. I made it crystal clear when I agreed to move in that this wasn't going to happen and if you think for one second that-,"

"Calm the hell down, woman. You sleep on your right side?" Andrea nodded, eyes narrowed. "Take the right side of the bed, sleep under the covers. I'll get a blanket and sleep on top. Sound good?" He snatched up a map on his bedside table and plopped down next to her with a pen. "Now, show me where this farm is."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The first night was interesting to say the least. Kicking off his boots, Merle took off his breeze shirt and tossed it into a hamper of dirty clothing to be washed by the bathroom door. He brushed his teeth and emptied his tank before Andrea had even taken off her shoes and she waited for him to leave the water closet before slipping in to change into as close of a thing to pajamas as could be scavenged from nearby houses. She had a graphic t-shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants which emphasized her backside, but she was quick to warn him of gaping at it.

Merle draped a blanket over his legs and closed his eyes the instant his head touched his pillow but for quite a while he knew Andrea was contemplating even sitting down on the bed with him in it, for she had taken up a permanent residence in the armchair. After nearly a half hour he felt the mattress sink down as she climbed in beside him and turned away. Wondering briefly if she snored, Merle tucked his hand behind his head and grinned at the ceiling. One step forward, no steps back.

His entertainment was short lived, for Andrea awoke him sometime in the early morning by jerking awake and smacking him across the face with her forearm in panic. Sparing no time for an apology, she rushed to the water closet and turned the faucet on. Eyes watering, Merle sat up, hugging his knees as he watched her bend over the sink and splash water into her face for a full minute.

Her face was pale when she turned back to him, anticipating what he had to say about the incident. Merle rubbed his cheekbone with his hand; he was grateful that at least she hadn't struck his eye since his swollen one was still on the mend though he could open it about halfway at this point.

"Now, if it'd been any other man in Woodbury, he wouldda bitch slapped ya for deckin' 'im in your sleep."

"Sorry," she apologized, wiping water off of her chin.

"Get nightmares often?" _If y'do, we got a problem here._

"Once in a while, but I've never had one so-so _vivid_," Andrea admitted, gazing vacantly at her spot on the bed. "Michonne told me that sometimes I would talk, mostly just names, but I guess I get a little violent in my sleep."

_Y'don't say? _"Don't worry 'bout it," said Merle, lying back down. Tormenting her this late was just not worth it and she already looked upset enough without him adding anything. "Just try'n aim next time, huh?" A few minutes passed and he chanced a peek at her. She was rocking on her heels at the window, watching for movement below. Her hair was mussed and the moonlight streaming through the blinds gave her face a waxy sort of appearance, but Merle thought it looked becoming. At least now she wasn't trying to put on a mask and it was refreshing to not see a deluxe death glare issuing from those icy blue orbs.

"Hey, y'gonna try'n get s'more sleep or what?"

"No, I'll stay up for a while," said Andrea without looking at him.

"Y'done it b'fore, what's your problem now?"

"You were asleep before."

_Like hell I was_. "Fine, have it your way." He threw his blanket off of him and pushed himself off of the mattress, slogging over to the armchair and sinking down onto the wonderfully soft cushion. "You go on and get back t'bed. I'll sleep here."

Andrea gave him a disdainful look and shook her head. "You—are—so—difficult."

"I ain't the one who's afraid t'sleep in the same bed with you."

It amused him watching her struggle with the idea of lying next to him while he was still awake, but the pains he was going to in order to make her more comfortable was not helping her feel less guilty about all the hurt she had inflicted on him in the past. At long last she held up her hands in defeat and motioned at the bed.

"Okay, okay, I'll go to sleep, just stop being so—stop acting like that."

"Like what?" asked Merle innocently as he settled onto his pillow and watched a fly dart around the ceiling.

"So careful," said Andrea, flipping once again onto her side so that her voice was slightly muffled. "It's not you and it's not right."

"Blondie, y'don't know the first thing 'bout me, so how d'you know what my real attitude is and what it ain't? Look, don't make me regret takin' ya in when I couldda just as easily left ya for the other wolves if y'get my meanin'. If I was gonna do anythin' t'you, don'tcha think I'dda done it back when I found ya in the bushes? Y'need t'stop _worryin'_; it messes with your mind."

"I think it's a little late for that."

"Y'know Blondie, you're one've the biggest pessimists I've ever met."

"You want to make me happy, Merle? Stop calling me that."

Merle turned his head and stared at the back of hers for a while before both of his eyes started to close and he could hold back sleep no longer. It seemed like less than ten seconds later that he heard a deep, reverberating horn coming from the gate. Beside him Andrea sat up bolt right, reaching for the Beretta on the chair next to her.

"What is that?" she asked, fumbling with her weapon.

Merle switched his blade into attack position and dug his feet into his boots by the door, tucking the laces in because he didn't have ten minutes to spare for tying them.

"Breach," he said forebodingly.


	10. Chapter 10: Playing Sick Games

**ANDREA:**

The order of "Don't kill it" had been one of the strangest, if not _the_ strangest and most absurd thing she had ever heard. She and Merle had reached the first floor before any of the other occupants of the house and upon throwing open the door, discovered four walkers tottering up the street as men from the fence guard went for not rifles or bats but poles and ropes similar to the devices Hershel Greene had used to detain his barn walkers. At first Andrea had questioned how the hell walkers could have gotten into the town with all of the strict measures to keep them out, but she threw the thought aside and sprinted towards the nearest walking corpse that was attempting to enter the cafeteria. Merle was hard on her heels, shouting at her and she could distinguish the words, "Don't kill it."

She had every intention of telling him to shove it up his ass when the Governor cut her off in his vehicle. He too had a net and warned Andrea with one hard look to back off as he looped it around the walker's neck and yanked it to the ground where several of his men detained it and started dragging it off towards the west side of the street.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she demanded with her hands still wrapped around her axe.

"You go on home now," said the Governor dismissively. "This doesn't concern you at the moment."

The fact that she was facing the self-proclaimed leader of the town in a t-shirt and pajama shorts did not stop her from demanding answers as she walked after the Governor. "You almost ran me over to stop me from putting down a walker and I think I have the right to know why!"

The Governor put up a hand to her and though his body language did not suggest violence, his tone could not have been more menacing. "When I find that it's the right time to tell you why, you'll know. Until then, I think you'd best go along with Merle."

The gate was closing once again to her left while men from all four corners of the town came together to restrain the walkers and guide them through a heavy metal door half hidden behind thick green foliage. The walkers swiped their arms out wide, mindlessly trying to catch one of their captors but for every walker there were at least three men to subdue them. Blinds opened all along the street and faces peeked out from behind curtains to view the scene down on the street but as quickly as they appeared, they vanished.

Something was off about this entire operation. Not putting down walkers but leading them away on ropes and poles like they were overly excited horses went against everything she believed and she wasn't about to stand by and watch it happen without answers.

Merle's hand closed around her wrist. "Go back to the room," he instructed quietly.

"Tell me what's going on," she demanded, facing him with her heart pounding.

"Not now," he said, trying to push her along, but she planted her feet firmly on the pavement and refused to budge.

"No, I've been completely honest with you and I think I deserve to know the truth, so if you don't tell me I'll find out for myself one way or another, you know I will!"

"Damn it, not _now_," Merle hissed, now pinching her arm insistently.

"Merle, come lend us a hand here," called Martinez and this time Andrea knew he was not intentionally poking fun at Merle's handicap. As Merle turned to answer, Andrea shook herself free and got all of ten feet away before Merle's arms closed around her waist and the two of them went down in the grass. He was stronger, even with the loss of his hand, and he pinned her down with his knees, though she didn't try very hard to fight back. There would be a time for that, but it was not now, not with so many people watching them behind closed windows. She lay still, scowling at Merle's half-swollen face and then he raised a finger to his lips.

"Later," he said in a tone just audible over the sounds of the men handling the walkers. "Just go back now, lock the door, and wait for me and then I'll tell ya whatever the hell y'wanna know." Andrea twisted to try and sit up but he pointed straight at her face, all traces of humor gone from his own. "Deal?"

"Get off of me," said Andrea, trying to use her legs to help her gain some sort of grip on the grass, but he was too heavy. He leaned over her so that she could smell the toothpaste clinging to his breath.

"Deal or not, baby?"

"Okay, fine, just get _off_, I can't breathe!"

He stood up and hauled her to her feet. There was a warning look in his eyes as he hurried off to help tend to the walkers, but Andrea had no intention of returning to the room. She didn't move, wondering if she should go to Michonne and reveal her suspicions or attempt to confirm them herself by doing a bit of sneaking around. After all the crap she went through to get Michonne to stay, Andrea thought she deserved some answers, especially since she hadn't caused any trouble herself.

Checking to see if anyone was watching her, she hastened to the wall of greenery that concealed the door and felt her way around it, searching for another entrance. She found one curving around to the side about ten feet up and scaled the wall by coiling her arms around the vines and branches that grew outward. She quickly glanced over her shoulder before darting inside the shattered window and starting to crawl through a narrow tunnel. Bangs and shouts preceded her as she crept forward, axe in hand, but as she emerged above a long stretch of dirt, she darted back into the shadows to watch from her vantage point.

Below her the men were herding the walkers into a cage in the far corner of the stadium all at once which was not going well. Merle had one walker in a headlock and brought his knee up to its chin before throwing it down and scrambling out of the cage to avoid the clutches of the other walkers. The men simultaneously released their ropes and yanked off the herding poles and the cage doors swung shut with a loud clatter. Shupert and the younger man Andrea believed to be named Tim strung chains around the doors to keep the walkers inside while the rest of the men stepped back and admired their handiwork.

"That isn't enough," said the Governor. "If you're going for the big stunt, Merle, we're gonna need at least six more."

"I'll check the traps first thing in the mornin'," said Merle. "If there ain't a catch, I'll just do a lil' huntin' b'fore lunch and be back in with the rest've 'em."

"What d'you think your woman's gonna make of this?" asked Martinez.

Andrea didn't want to stick around to hear Merle's answer. _His woman?_ Was that what she was now? _Well, I can tell you that she thinks this is some messed up shit going on here, Martinez_, she thought darkly. _The first mistake you made was not batting those walkers' brains out on sight and whatever the hell you have here is going to come back around and bite you in the ass, just you watch_.

Now she had evidence to confront the Governor with and she knew the time had come to stop playing coy with the men of this place. Unlike the other citizens of Woodbury, Andrea was not a longtime resident and she knew the horrors of the outside world better than almost anyone else. Whatever this little set up was, she wanted no part of it and would reject any affiliation with those involved until it was closed down.

_Or I leave_. That was always an option, just like Michonne wanted. But after the rebellious attitude she had put up on behalf of staying, she didn't want to see that smug look on Michonne's face.

She started to back up the way she came when suddenly a hand closed over her mouth and held her down. Struggling, she attempted to kick her attacker off, but whoever it was, they were not letting up. Her face was pressed down onto the rusty bottom of the tunnel and she heard her opponent whistle, a sharp, piercing sound that was ten times louder than normal within the confinements of the tube. Moments later the same hands that held her in place were lifting her up and lowering her down into the stadium.

"Watch it; she bites more than some of those biters," said a voice above her, which she recognized to be Crowley's.

Shupert set her on her feet in the middle of a semicircle where the men had gathered. The Governor was shaking his head in disappointment but while some of the men looked excited, Merle's face was the only one lacking for emotion though his eyes clearly told her, _I'm so gonna kill you when this is over._

"Just couldn't resist sneaking around, huh?" asked the Governor.

"I don't think you have any right to lecture me on shadow work with what you have going on here," Andrea snapped. "What are you using those walkers for, entertainment?"

"Distraction," answered the Governor. "An escape from reality whenever people need reminding that not everything has to be death and destruction. We stage fights with them to show the people that we can overcome, we _have_. In this arena, we always win and that gives folks a boost of confidence."

"That is bullshit. What happens when they go outside the walls?" said Andrea, her voice shaking in anger. "This is surreal, what you're doing, and it's a lie. You're teaching them that they're untouchable."

"No one's going to go outside the walls, Andrea. No one _wants_ to. If luck is with us, the bleachers in this arena are the closest anyone will ever have to get to biters again unless someone wants to volunteer to be the next staged fighter. Are you volunteering?"

Martinez laughed and Andrea had a strong urge to knock out all of his even white teeth with her Beretta, but abstained. Instead she rounded on Merle who had not spoken up on her behalf like she suspected he would.

"And what's your say in this? Do you think this is right?"

"Ain't what I think that matters," Merle responded carefully and Andrea caught on to the subtle caution. He could not speak freely just now, but his avoidance of the direct question suggested that he might not agree with the Governor's ruling. At least, not completely.

"Oh, that's right; you're the one scheduled to go up against ten walkers in your _big stunt _tomorrow after you hunt them down and trap them like animals."

"That's what they are, sweetheart, in case y'didn't notice," said Merle to a smattering round of laughter from the other men.

"They were people once, damn you," Andrea snarled. "Good people who deserve a better death than this." When she saw that she had not changed anyone's mind, she nodded in a very sarcastic manner. "Okay, if you all have your heads so far up your asses that you don't realize the long-term damage this will do, fine by me, but I won't watch it happen. Don't think you can bamboozle me like you did the people in this town. I won't play host to your sick games."

"That's enough, let's go now," said Shupert, tugging on her arm but she was ready for him. She brought her shin up right between the big man's legs and he bent double, clutching his manly parts with a howl. His pain evidently was not enough to keep him at bay for long because he straightened up three seconds later and his muscular arm came up over his head to strike her down. Andrea felt a sharp jerk at the back of her shirt and fell back onto her bruised tailbone as Merle towed her backwards and blocked her from Shupert's view.

She couldn't see his face, but Andrea knew it had to be a look of last-chance warning that Merle was giving Shupert because only that could have made the bigger man back off.

"Easy now, boys," said the Governor, intervening. "Merle, get her back inside and see that she stays there. Maybe tomorrow you'll have a change of heart, Andrea. I hope you can see what we're trying to do here is for the people."

"I already told you I'm not going to watch-,"

"Shut up, just _shut up_," snapped Merle out of the corner of his mouth. "Get up." He frog-marched her out of the stadium the way he had come and did not stop pushing until they were almost to the apartment building. Yanking her around fiercely by the arm he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper and demanded, "What the hell's the matter with you, woman? D'you realize y'couldda gotten both've us in some very serious shit tonight? I'm talkin' confinement, food rations, possible imprisonment all 'cause y'couldn't do like I told ya and just go back t'bed."

"Well, there's your problem," Andrea retorted. "I'm not _your woman_, you bastard, and if you think I'm going to be taking orders from you-,"

"_They_ all think you're with me now, or did I not make that clear when I laid out the guidelines for movin' in with me? Look, if y'want t'keep a low profile 'round here, y'gotta do what I say. I know these people better'n you ever will and I know what pushes their buttons. Insubordination riles up Phillip—the Governor, I mean-,"

"Phillip?"

"Focus, Andrea! Y'can't go 'round accusin' 'im and challengin' his authority."

"I'm not; I'm questioning his sanity," Andrea retorted.

Merle shook her. "Are y'tryin' t'get y'self killed or does bein' a bitch just come naturally t'you?"

Andrea swiped out her hand to clout him upside the head, but perhaps Merle had come to expect this from her, for he blocked her and said rather threateningly, "Now, that shit's gettin' old. Y'wanna stay here or get kicked back out on the road again? Learn some humility, keep your head low, and put on a false face, sweetheart, 'cause the only way t'keep the Governor happy is t'make 'im think that he's got you sold."

"Act stupid, you mean," Andrea corrected.

"No, act oblivious," said Merle. "And learn from the master."


	11. Chapter 11: Sounds of Glory

**MERLE:**

Adrenaline was his drug. The rush, the feel of exhilaration, and the mad pumping in his chest as his heart pounded elated that reckless, invincible feeling that coke used to give him, but eleven and a half months off of that had made him suffer through severe withdrawal. When the crowd made that collective noise with cheers, boos, and curses all intermingling, he swallowed the sound to fuel him. This stunt was far more dangerous than anything Crowley or Martinez could think up and if he staged it perfectly, there would be a new top dog in the arena. He had yet to win the support of the majority of the onlookers; it was mostly the kids who all marveled at "the one-handed man". Tonight though, he would have them all singing his tune.

Except for one.

She had not been there when he awoke after the incident and he did not see her all day, suspecting that she was hiding out in Michonne's room. This only confirmed his doubts that she had heeded a single word of the little speech he preached to her. Still, it equally hurt and annoyed him that she was being such a bitch about the ordeal. Had he not proved himself by going out of his way to save her pathetic ass from the monsters on both sides of the walls? Time and again he acted as her pepper spray against everything that threatened to harm her and still she refused to throw him a bone. Now he could conclude that she was just being stupid, arrogant, and above all a pain in the ass.

Andrea was scared; that much was visible by the way her pupils contracted and her mouth opened ever so slightly whenever the subject of their room sharing cropped up. She put on a very good face when the men were around, but within the privacy of their room where she did not have to pretend, he could tell that she was repulsed by him and that she almost would prefer to be on the run again. She hated him; he didn't know what for and he was never likely to find out.

Tonight she would not come to see him in his element. She would seek solitude and bury her head in a pillow to block out the din of the crowd and he didn't give a shit. It wasn't her he aimed to please tonight. He owed her nothing; he didn't need to prove anything to her.

_Then _why_ are y'bustin' your balls tryin' t'help her?_

"You set, Merle?" asked Tim from the entryway.

Blinking to bring himself back into reality, Merle nodded and stretched his left arm, flexing his fingers. He made a small hop in place and craned his neck from side to side, listening to the rhythmic pounding of the crowd from the bleachers.

Ten biters, two obstacles, no weapons. Piece of cake.

"You're on!"

Merle took off, arms kept in tight for what awaited him in the stadium. As soon as he cleared the entrance the side guards released five biters at him from both sides but he sprinted past them and made for the flaming hoop at the other end of the arena. Skidding to a halt in the dirt, he picked out the spikes on the hoop, strategically sizing up his biters for takedown. The first corpse to reach him was light, what used to be an adolescent boy and Merle seized it by the arm, swinging it wide and around until it made contact with the flaming circle. Merle lifted it up and locating one of the spikes, shoved the biter's head directly back into it. Two more biters came at him and he swooped low to cut their legs out from beneath them. He slammed his foot down against one's skull and rammed the second one headlong into another spike.

The roar of the crowd heartened him, even though with blood pounding in his ears, he couldn't distinguish the applause from the hisses. For or against him, everyone was watching and they knew he was not someone with whom to screw. With no one on his side, he was a titan amongst men, but if he had Daryl, he would be untouchable.

Daryl, his lost little brother…

The fourth and fifth biters ganged up on him and he nearly went down as he rolled sideways in the nick of time. _Focus, y'idiot_, he chided himself. _Think 'bout Daryl later, getcher damn head in the game_.

He rose up on one leg and kicked out with the other, sending one biter back at least five feet. The other one lunged, mouth hanging open stupidly to chomp down on his attachment, but he used his handicap to pummel the biter's brains in. The biter he had kicked was up once more, staggering for him and to amp up the crow again Merle took a dive through the hoop, sailing through the middle and landing in a somersault before doubling back to cabob the biter's head on the last spike.

The audience was almost beside themselves as Merle moved on to the stacked crates in the middle of the arena with the last five biters closing in on all sides. He clambered up to the top and waited for at least one biter to follow as he lifted his arms to the onlookers. _How y'like me now, bitches?_ At the top of the bleachers the Governor was applauding him in polite recognition but Gabe was looking nothing short of murderous as he swelled in jealousy. _Just y'watch this one, lard bucket_.

The first biter scrabbled for his ankles and Merle took a fistful of its hair, slamming it nose first into the corner of the crate which nearly sliced its head in half. It slumped down and took out the biter behind it. Two more reached him at the same time and he kicked out the left one's top teeth as he seized the other and hoisted it over his shoulder fireman style. Spinning the body so that the head faced the ground he drove downward and rotten blood ooze out of its shattered skull. Kicking the twice-killed carcass off of the crate, he awaited the next biter, shouting and taunting. He dealt the next two easily but as the last one scaled the crates to reach him, his brain went into overdrive to try and think of some sort of glorious ending that the people would not soon forget, but what?

The moon was sitting low over the stadium and as Merle glanced towards it, for a fleeting moment he thought he saw a silhouette perched on the rooftop. A silhouette with a ponytail. He raised two fingers to his forehead and gave a small salute that ended with him pointing directly towards the figure, if she really was there.

_Watch me fly, baby._

The biter was diagonally below him. Merle propelled himself off of the edge of the crate, grabbing the biter around the throat as he tackled it. He flew through the air and then landed on top of the biter which acted as a crash mat for him. The impact on the ground had broken the back of the reanimated corpse's head open and Merle stood up, punching his fist straight upward in victory.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Most of the blood was nearly gone from his attachment when he heard the door open. He used a wad of toilet paper to clean off the rest of the red and tossed it in the waste bin, turning around and leaning against the sink to see Andrea standing defiantly before him.

"All right, let's have it out then," he said with a roll of his eyes. "What'd I do this time? Just what the hell did I do, huh? I ain't been nowhere near you at all today, so why're y'standin' there with that bitchy look on your face?"

"That was all staged," Andrea growled. "You took a stupid, reckless risk with your own life which makes you about the dumbest, pig-headed _asshole_ ever to walk the earth."

_Gotcha_. "So y'did come?"

Andrea opened and closed her mouth but no words came out and Merle laughed in triumph. "Knew y'wouldn't be able t'resist, Blondie. Everyone gives in at some point. And you should be ashamed of y'self for accusin' me've _stagin_' that whole thing. Sure, there were guards with rifles t'put biters down if it looked like I was in trouble, but no one who's gone into that arena has ever had a guard help 'em out 'cause that's just shameful. Naw, that was a hundred percent Merle Dixon at his finest with no strings attached, no tricks, no bullshit. That was me at the top've the food chain, sweetheart, and in case y'didn't see, I took out ten've them buggers with nary a scratch on me. I proved m'self for the third time now that I'm an alpha male here and you'd best not forget that."

Enjoying the look on her face as if she had been slapped, Merle turned the conversation in a new, casual direction. "So, what'd y'do t'day?"

Andrea seemed to find her voice and said, "You don't want to know," in a rather guilty fashion that made Merle's grin take a one-eighty.

"What happened?" he demanded, stepping closer. "What—happened?"

There came a loud bang and a shout from the ground floor which told him that he was about to find out exactly _what happened_. Knowing he only had seconds, Merle took Andrea by the arm and whispered, "Trust me on this one, Blondie." He pushed her down onto the bed, leaned straight over her and planted his lips on hers just as the door burst open. Feigning surprise and aggravation, he jerked his head upward and worked a foul look onto his face.

"Damn it, what _now_?" he thundered as Shupert stood there, gawking at Merle and Andrea as if the scene before him were a particularly interesting film. To her credit, Andrea kept the shock off of her face even if it was present in her eyes.

"Governor wants a word with her," said Shupert.

"Well, he can wait," Merle snarled.

"He's insistent-,"

"Fuck _off_!"

Shupert slammed the door shut and Merle stood up, rushing to the window. The big man exited the building and hurried off towards the Governor's quarters to deliver the news. This definitely was not going to end well. He rounded on Andrea who was sitting up, the back of her hand to her lips where he had kissed her.

"You're in some deep shit now, woman. C'mon, get up, you've gotta go."

"Go—where?" asked Andrea, in a slightly dazed fashion.

"Go t'your friend's room until I come and getcha. Governor's gonna be pissed but I'll try'n cool off some've that steam. I dunno what y'did, but boy, are you in for it." He pushed her axe into her hands and dragged her towards the door. "Get movin', go on. I boughtcha a few minutes, but that ain't gonna last, now move it!"

"I'll answer to what I did," she said, now drawing strength from his urgency.

"What _did_ y'do?" Merle asked, shaking her.

"Michonne and I put a little artwork on the gate," said Andrea, averting his gaze.

_Aw, shit_.


	12. Chapter 12: A Few Days

**Shorter chapter and one that was sitting on my laptop for a while with three written paragraphs before I figured out where to go with it. Anyone seen episode 6 "Hounded" yet? Gah, why do you give me these feelings Merle?**

**DARYL:**

He was the only one who had not yet seen the baby though from all the details he was picking up from the others, he knew all there was to know about her without having to see her. She had dark brown hair, weighed approximately six pounds, and was named Sophia. This did not help Daryl's conscience at all and he cursed Carl under his breath every time he heard someone utter the baby's name. It seemed that hell was already starting to pull what small bits of sanity he possessed out through his brain.

It wasn't enough that his nights were plagued with Carol's screams and Merle's walker corpse, but now he had to endure the sound of a child named for the girl he could not save which also reminded him of the mother he had let die.

Facing Rick had been the most difficult obstacle so far. Those who had been out in the yard with him and seen Carol go down did not blame him anymore than they did themselves, particularly T-Dog and Glenn who were the ones to shut the gate, but none of them attempted to stop Daryl from explaining to Rick that the fault was entirely his own. Rick, in all his wisdom, had insisted that he and Daryl go clear out the pathway and retrieve anything left of Carol's body to bury on the hillside, which Daryl dreaded but knew he would have to do. As he headed off to finish the job he didn't pretend that the looks he got from the others didn't hurt either. If he didn't come back with Rick, he was a goner.

The pathway was cleared with some help, but Daryl and Rick went in to gather up Carol's remains which were unidentifiable body parts spread out across ten feet or so where the walkers had fought over her. Daryl took it upon himself to dig the grave, set the body parts in, and cover it again, but he refused to speak at her funeral while all eyes looked to him to make some sort of speech. Those who had stayed behind to guard the cell block or assist in Lori's delivery blamed him, he knew, and that wounded him far worse than any nightmare could. Up until Carol's demise, he had been looked to as something of a wing-man to Rick, someone to be trusted and confided in to guarantee the group's safety, but now…

He couldn't bear to stand beside the mound of uncovered dirt one second longer and hurried off across the yard to the inner watchtower. Once inside he took the stairs two at a time until he was just one step shy of the top where he sank down into a wall sit and exhaled deeply. It had taken all of his restraint to not snap at Beth whose bloodshot eyes narrowed in hate at him. She had looked to Carol as a surrogate mother and blaming Daryl seemed like an appropriate way to compensate for her death, but he wasn't about to take any more shit from those bulging gray eyes.

Hell, it wasn't his _fault_. He had told Carol to stay by the door with Maggie—no, he had told her to stay inside with Lori, but did she listen? No, and now because of her insubordination he was the one being given death glares by spare members of the group. How was that fair?

_And since when has life ever been fair t'you, dumbass?_

He was born into the wrong family at the wrong time, in the wrong century. Fuck it. All of it. He was done—

"Daryl, can I come in?"

Rick's voice echoed, spiraling upward to where he sat and he waited for him to appear on the stairs, turning his knife over and over between his fingers. He didn't want to see the look on Rick's face, the patronizing expression he put on for occasions such as this. Instead he pretended to be extremely interested in the fingernails on his left hand and started picking dirt out from underneath them.

"Look, I don't want you to feel that this makes you any less of a man to us," said Rick. "It was an accident, I understand that. These things—they just happen and you did what you could. You've helped protect the group countless times and no one can doubt your value. I know Carol wouldn't blame you-,"

"That's 'cause she's dead," Daryl sniped. He didn't have to sit here and put up with this. Did Rick think he felt belittled by Carol's death? Did he honestly believe that Daryl felt like _less of a man_ because he had failed to look behind him when running out the gate?

Rick nodded. "Yes, she's dead, but that's not your fault. I know how you must be feeling, trust me; you aren't the first one to have had these thoughts. If you need to talk about it, I'm all ears, but if not, that's okay too."

"I don't gotta explain myself t'you or anyone else," said Daryl shortly. "I didn't let her die; I let her come with me and that's all there is to it. You can tell the rest've them out there that I don't give two shits how they view it. I know the truth've it."

"They don't hate you, Daryl," said Rick consolingly. "They're scared that you hate _them_. This is how things fall apart; misunderstanding gets a hold on things. Don't let what happened pull you apart from the rest've the group. We're here to support you as long as you continue to accept us. Whatever you need, we'll help you as best we can."

He was hesitant, but he put out his hand and clapped Daryl's shoulder. "Okay?"

Without realizing it, Rick had just given Daryl a golden opportunity which he seized and weighed carefully before putting his thoughts into words. "I think I need some time…y'know, some time alone. I gotta get outta here for a few days t'clear m'head. If you can spare t'do without me for maybe two days, I think it'd help."

He read doubt first and then understanding and acceptance on his friend's face.

"Okay."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX

Maggie shut the gate behind him as he revved the engine to life and shot out onto the road atop the motorcycle. He had a pack full of water and food to last him four days just to be safe and ammo as well as a bedroll and his poncho. His crossbow was a given. He knew where he was going.


	13. Chapter 13: Shadow Work

**MERLE:**

_I swear woman, if y'hit me this time, I'll knock all your top teeth out_. Merle bent over Andrea who was sprawled out over the majority of the bed still in her day clothes, her hand dangling over the edge close to the handle of her axe. He shook her by the arm, holding his breath and within two seconds her eyes snapped open and she reached for her weapon but he pinched her skin. She gasped aloud but he knelt down beside the bed and whispered to her. "Get up, getcher weapons and follow me. Don't ask questions."

"What's going on?"

Merle glared at her. _Really? Was she that stupid?_ "Hey, what'd I just say, huh? C'mon, moonlight's burnin', get that ass movin'!"

By now she seemed to have gotten the hint that a pressing tone meant haste and pulled her shoes on in less than a minute. On the threshold he popped open the door and stuck his head outside. "Okay, we've gotta be quick here and you'd better be dead quiet or else you're gonna wish y'were, understand?"

"No, but-,"

"Good, shuddap and follow me."

He knew where the creaks in the staircase were and where the worn out floor betrayed the groan of twenty years' worth of dust and made sure to avoid those areas. To anyone who might have been watching, he suspected that he looked like someone failing miserably at some type of ballet but he didn't have time to worry about that as he wordlessly instructed Andrea to shadow him. At the bottom of the staircase he scanned both sides of the street, eyes peeled for open shutters in the neighboring buildings but saw none. Both of them pressed their backs to the wall and kept to the darkness as they crept forward. Merle counted the windows along the ground level of the building beside them and on the fourth one he stopped, motioning for Andrea to duck down. He rapped his knuckle on the glass as loudly as he dared, praying that Michonne was a light sleeper. After his second knock he was rewarded with her scowl from behind the white lace curtain. She gave him the finger and made to draw the curtain shut again, but he pointed to Andrea and then made the shushing motion. Michonne unbolted the window and cranked it open.

"What the hell's going on?" she demanded.

"Get your things and come with us," said Merle. "I know y'got trust issues, but just this once I need ya t'go with me on this, okay?"

"No, she's right," said Andrea quietly, steeling forward. "Trusting you in broad daylight is one thing, but creeping around in the dark with you is quite another. We're not going anywhere until you explain."

Merle made a violent gesture of impatience but then held his hand to his lips, choosing his words carefully. "Look, Blondie, if y'haven't learned t'trust me after sharin' my bed, then you're a dumbass. Sorry, but that's the cold truth. After your antics on the gate, the both've you're lucky that you're still breathin'. Y'spat the Governor's hospitality back in his face and y'nearly brought a panic down on the town. I dunno how y'did it without gettin' caught, but that ain't what he wanted t'hear. Y'think that solitary confinement was your punishment for what y'done? Hell, girls, it's just the beginnin'. I could go into detail, but we ain't got time, so I'm gonna tell ya this just once: trust me."

Andrea looked to Michonne and they fought a silent battle of wills with a few choice facial expressions but it was Andrea who appeared to have won, for she nodded to him. Michonne left the window only to return moments later with her pack slung over her arm, sword in hand. When Merle explained his plan to them, Andrea raised a doubtful eyebrow, but Michonne pumped him for more information.

"How many men on the wall?"

"As it stands right now, there's two," said Merle. "They ain't the problem; the problem is getting' the gate open. Now, I can do that, but only if one've y'all gets the car goin' and brings it 'round."

"How are you planning on accomplishing this without getting shot at?" Andrea inquired skeptically.

"Well, that's where the other one've you comes in handy," said Merle. "Whoever ain't drivin' the car's gonna help me with the take down. You game?"

"What does 'take down' mean?" asked Andrea cautiously.

"Knock out. As quietly as possible."

Merle handed over a ring of keys to Michonne. "The brown one, sword lady. Start 'er up quietly and get 'er to the gate."

As Merle had said, the problem was getting the gate open only because it made one loud-ass creak, but that was not to say that knocking out the wall guards was effortless. Andrea nearly blew it when she sneezed ten feet from her target who happened to be Crowley, though luckily Shupert was the other guard and he coughed at almost the exact same time. Merle raised a lump the size of a hardboiled egg on the back of his skull but performed a double tap just to be safe. Andrea whacked Crowley over the head with her axe handle and set him down as Merle lowered Shupert onto the ground as well. They had to push the gate open inch by inch to avoid alerting the whole town, but once it was open, Michonne appeared right on time. She drove through the gate leaving Merle and Andrea to shut it in her wake before hurrying out to meet her.

Merle kicked her out of the driver's seat and made her ride in the back while Andrea took shotgun. He only dared switch the headlights on when they were out of sight of Woodbury and even then he went slow, readjusting to the vehicle's operations. It had been so long since he had been behind the wheel. The Governor didn't want to risk upending the car and injuring the men by letting Merle drive one-handed, but Phillip Whatever-The-Hell-His-Last-Name-Was could stick this in his pipe and smoke it.

_"I've—we've spent too much time and effort into creating this place to risk it all because of some misplaced sense of moral righteousness. That look on your face confirms my beliefs that she's more than just a bed warmer for you, but she's not good for the town or the people. Michonne's even worse. If I wasn't the sensible man that I am I would have stuck both of their heads on spikes up on the wall, but that wouldn't entirely solve the problem, now would it? No, I need both've those women to address the people who saw the gate and take it all back. I want a full apology where they dismiss their actions to be paranoia and stupidity and then maybe—_maybe_—I'll consider an alternative, but until then, I wouldn't get too used to seeing Andrea's face every night before you go to sleep."_

No one could say that he hadn't tried. Whatever the results, whatever the outcome, no one could deny that Merle had damn well done his best to try and carve a path for Andrea to follow and give her a chance at survival. But she was like clay that had been left out overnight; she couldn't be carved or molded when she had already formed a solid shape. Woodbury was not for her with its arena and seemingly oblivious population. After what she and Michonne had done, they stood a better chance on the other side of the walls which was something he had been fighting against since day one.

He knew where the farm was now and that was the only bit of information he had wanted to begin with. Now that he had it, he could pursue what he wanted. So _why_ did he feel like such an asshole for what he was doing?

"Merle, where are we going?" Andrea prompted after they had been driving for at least twenty minutes.

"Y'know how t'get t'that farm?" asked Merle. "That's where we're goin'."

"In the middle of the night?"

"You betcha. Governor wouldn't let me go by m'self during the day, so we'll see how he likes this one. Just tell me where t'go from here."

"You need to find the highway," said Andrea, squinting at the road ahead.

"Yeah, that's gonna be an adventure."

In the back seat, Michonne had remained mostly quiet until now. "They'll know it was you," she said in a level voice. "There's no way you can get to the farm and back before they replace the wall guards and when they piece two and two together you're going to get hell for doing this."

Merle nodded absently. "Yeah, I suspect I will, but how's about y'don't bring that up again and just shut up back there, huh?"

"Hey," said Andrea sharply. "I don't know what the hell is your problem right now, why you're acting this way, or what you think you're doing, but we've gone along with it without too many questions and nearly no answers so don't you talk to her like that."

"I tell you what, sweetheart, I'll spill the beans and put 'em in a line for you as soon as I see your fabled farm and not one second before, all right? That give ya any incentive t'help me out with the damn directions?"

It was nearly dawn when Andrea pointed out the turn-off onto the road marked with a faded gray mailbox labeled "Greene". Andrea was sitting forward in her seat now, hands clutching her armrests in anticipation. She, like Merle, did not know what to expect, for the only information they had to go on was what Andrea could remember from the horde attack. Merle allowed himself a small amount of horrifying excitement but it quickly disintegrated into false hopes and ash when he saw the tattered ruins of what had been a barn structure and a white house falling into disarray.

Daryl would not be in there. No one with half a working conscious brain would be in there. But this was the only place he knew of that the Governor didn't.

Merle brought the car to a halt. "Your stuff and a few week's worth've supplies are in the trunk," he told Andrea as he turned in his seat to face her. "Got some ammo back there too."

"Wait, what are you saying?" said Andrea quizzically.

Merle laughed and it was a very hollow sound. "I always thought you were smart, Blondie, but if you ain't figured it out by now, there's just no hope for you. Y'painted words of rebellion on the gate in biter blood and used one've the captured biters for show, feedin' it a squirrel for the people t'see. Y'wanted t'prove a point that Woodbury's just an illusion and that the Governor's taken the people for idiots. All've that—and you expect he's just gonna letcha walk away? Naw, even I can't talk y'outta this one. He has plans for the both've you and no amount of beggin' would keep 'im from that. I did what I could, but it wasn't enough, so I did the next best thing which means all've us have gotta accept it for what it is."

He pulled a small latch below the seat to pop the trunk. "Get out," he said shortly. "Go on."

Michonne opened her door and started to scoot off of her seat, but Andrea didn't even move. She had a confused expression on her face as if the information was too great to retain and had to be taken in small doses. At last, after about a minute spent in uncomfortable silence she spoke.

"You're leaving us here. After all that shit about trying to get me to stay, trying to protect me by sharing your bed, you're kicking us out?"

"Don't you dare turn this 'round on me, y'little shit," Merle growled, surprised that she had the gall to play that innocent card. "I did my part, bustin' my ass for you, but you just couldn't keep yours outta trouble with your mood swings and your motor mouth and that damn gate! I done my best but you're the one who ain't changed a bit since the last time I saw ya, woman! I gave ya a gateway outta hell but you kept dancin' round and dropped the key, so now I'm pushin' ya back in. Now, grab your supplies, and get the fuck outta my car!"

Andrea opened her door so that the door ajar sign lit up and the annoying-as-hell beeper sounded, but she didn't climb out. "You don't belong there either and you know it, don't you?" she challenged. "No, I think you belong out here, where there aren't any rules."

"See, that's the sad truth, baby, I don't belong anywhere."


	14. Chapter 14: The Farm

**ANDREA:**

Only when Merle nudged her with his unarmed handicap did Andrea realize that she had run out of things to say to him. He had risked everything good he had going for him to get her and Michonne out of Woodbury and bring them here with supplies. The Governor would know what Merle had done on their behalf and there was no telling what sort of hell Merle would be walking back into if he left. Why would he do that? Andrea knew enough of the man to know that even though the two of them had played up the roommate scenario, Merle wanted her, though to what degree she couldn't tell. He lived for himself and didn't give a rat's ass about anyone except perhaps Daryl, but what were the chances of the two reuniting after eight months of uncertainty?

Andrea perched on the edge of the passenger seat with one foot on the ground and the other still nestled under the dashboard. If she stepped out of the car and the keys were still in the ignition, she was as good as signing his death warrant herself. Death by walkers or death by humans. The Governor's men were unforgiving, but walkers were mindless. The dead were not the real monsters here; they had no awareness of what they were doing. But the Woodbury troops—they were very much aware of their actions and what's more, Andrea had a suspicion that they enjoyed playing with their food before they killed it.

She may not care for Merle like how he cared for her (if his lusting could be called that) but she wouldn't let his death weigh on her conscience that already bore the guilt of Amy and Dale. There would not be a third weight.

"I ain't gonna say it again, woman; get outta my car or I won't hesitate t'shove your ass straight out into the dirt."

"So do it," Andrea challenged, planting her other foot back inside the car while Michonne unloaded the supplies from the trunk.

She called his bluff and she knew it as he turned off the car and twisted in his seat, resting his head against the back of his seat to stare out the window and avoid her gaze. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, buying himself time to speak but Andrea beat him to the cut while she had the chance.

"You're not going back there. I know enough about you to determine that, Merle Dixon, and you wouldn't risk going back unless you were certain that the Governor would blow this whole ordeal over. That means that you were planning on hitting the road on your own."

"Damn straight," said Michonne conveniently. "He's got a couple bags in the trunk for himself. He ain't going back to Woodbury."

Andrea couldn't help the smile from spreading across her face. She looked to him expectantly, waiting for an answer, but when he gave her none she punched him lightly in the arm. "Well?" she prompted.

"Whad'ya want me t'say, huh?" asked Merle still not looking at her. "You should be grateful for all I've done for ya, yet y'sit there thinkin' I owe _you_." Now there was a contemptuous tone in his voice and Andrea saw a smirk on his reflection in the window. He sat in the shadow of the car as the sun rose on her side and cast a brilliant golden glow on her.

"I didn't say you owe me anything," Andrea snapped. "I'm saying that you'd be better off staying with us than going off on your own. We both have a common goal; we want to find Daryl, so why not save ourselves some time and make it a team effort?"

"Yeah, 'cause choosin' your side the first time helped me out a lot," said Merle gruffly.

"That was your choice in an environment we weren't familiar with. And as it turned out, your little setup was just an illusion after all, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Woodbury's not for you, but neither is going solo. That's not an option for you in your condition. I'm asking if you want to stay and try things out, at least for a while. Then, if things don't work out, you can always be on your way, but I don't think you want to leave half as bad as you act like you do."

"What's that mean?" Merle demanded, turning back towards her with a frown.

"It means you have a shitty poker face." Andrea held his gaze for a few tense seconds and then when she was certain that she had his undivided attention, added softly, "Maybe it's not me that didn't work out the first time; maybe solitary confinement was where you went wrong. There are alternatives to the lonely road, you know."

Hoping that she had penetrated that rock-hard skull of his, she climbed out of the car with her axe in hand and followed Michonne up the pathway to the door that was thankfully still intact. Michonne set their supplies under the window on the right and then unsheathed her katana while Andrea made a few practice swings with her axe. Both of them knew better than to assume that the house was unoccupied. Andrea pulled the screen towards her, cursing the rusted hinges and held it open with her foot as she reached for the second. Then it hit her.

The others had left the house in a rush, sprinting for the cars while walkers surrounded them on all sides. No one would have had time or even entertained the notion of shutting the main door. Yet here it was, staring her in the face.

_It could have been the wind. Or maybe it swung shut on its own. Maybe they came back to look for me and took supplies from the house. Someone might have closed it then_.

"What's wrong?" asked Michonne when Andrea didn't move, fingers still outstretched to grasp the knob.

"I think someone's in there," said Andrea quietly. "This door was open when everyone bailed."

"Eight months unoccupied—probably just shut on its own," said Michonne dismissively. "C'mon, I'll go first."

"No, if there are live people in there, you could be walking straight into a sawed off shotgun. Let me go." She pulled out her pistol and licked her lips apprehensively.

"Aw, hell, both've you outta the way," griped Merle from behind as he mounted the steps with his M19 aimed and his hand attachment in place. He nodded to Michonne who twisted the doorknob and pushed it open before darting out of sight of the doorway. Merle took her place, resting his gun hand on his attachment. He made a noise in his throat that instructed Andrea and Michonne to follow in his wake which they did ever so cautiously, checking each room as they made their way down the hall. Michonne wordlessly volunteered to check upstairs and proceeded up the staircase much quieter than Andrea could have done. Andrea followed behind Merle, eyes peeled on the right as he took the left.

The putrid smell wafting from the kitchen was stronger in the hall and Andrea had to swallow hard to keep from gagging. Merle turned into the sitting room, gave it a quick scope over and then flipped up his thumb to her. Andrea's arms fell to her sides and she let out a relieved sigh.

She saw the shadow stir in the corner but wasn't quick enough to raise her gun a second time before the silhouette became a man and hollered at her, demanding that she and Merle drop their weapons. Merle moved in front of her but not so much that she couldn't see their opponent's outline. Both men were shouting, refusing to lower their weapons and Andrea found herself moving between them to try and prevent bloodshed as she added her voice to the din, pleading with the man to assure him that they meant no harm.

"I used to live here!" she bellowed as Merle tried to push her out of the way.

The sunlight had not yet hit the back of the house and so none of them could see each others' faces, but then a light fell upon Andrea from the hall and she heard an audible gasp from the unseen man followed by the most unique string of swearwords she had ever heard. In the second doorway Michonne was shining a flashlight on the man whose face was half hidden behind a weathered crossbow.

"Andrea," said Daryl, his eyes not believing what he saw before him. "Son've a bitch, you _are_ Andrea!"

She had a reply ready, but it never found its way out of her emotion-filled throat as she heard the sound of a crash behind her. Whirling around, she watched Merle knock over the couchside glass table which shattered on impact against the floor. He sank down onto the couch's armrest, unsteady and looking sick to his stomach. The hand that held his pistol went to his head and he kneaded his temple with the nozzle. He kept his head down so that Andrea couldn't see his eyes, but his shoulders were shaking slightly and when she moved to touch his arm, she found the skin cold.

"Holy _shit_," she heard him say and then the younger brother repeated it as he recognized the man before him.

"Merle…"

It was the reunion Andrea knew Daryl had given up on having, but the one that deep down he still wanted. Now that he had it, however, both he and Merle were at a loss as to how they should react. Neither of them made a move to approach each other, and Andrea stood in no man's land, looking from one to the other and back again until Michonne, blessed Michonne intervened.

"You know him?" she asked Andrea, jerking her head at Daryl.

"Obviously, otherwise she wouldda shot me," said Daryl. He had not changed in the slightest.

"He was in my group," Andrea explained. She glanced at Daryl for confirmation on the rest of the group and he gave her a swift, almost nonexistent nod. _Still alive_.

"Introductions, then?" Michonne pressed.

"Oh, right…"

Introductions seemed to be such a trivial thing…

Andrea waved a hand at Merle and then Daryl. "This is Merle's younger brother Daryl. Daryl, this is-,"

"Y'almost shot me," said Merle in a guttural voice, finally looking up as the sun peeked in through the window behind Daryl.

"I didn't know who y'were. For all I knew, y'couldda been mercenaries or walkers-,"

"What the hell're y'doin' here anyway?"

"Well, if you'd shut up, I could get in a word-,"

"Everyone shut up now!" hissed Michonne, eyes trailing towards the hall. She ducked out of the room only to reappear moments later looking like she had aged ten years. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates and focused on Andrea.

"What?" asked Merle, watching her closely as he stood up.

"Michonne, what's wrong?" asked Andrea.

"They're coming up the road."

"Who?" Daryl inquired, but Andrea exchanged a look of dread with Merle and the two of them joined together in pushing Daryl into the hall as they bombarded him with a crash-course explanation.

"Y'all get to the car and take off," Merle instructed. "Daryl, take 'em back t'this hideout y'got!"

Andrea could see three cars racing down the dirt road towards the house and her heart performed a series of acrobatic dances in her chest. She felt Merle pushing at the small of her back and shoved her out the door. At the bottom of the steps she realized she had forgotten her axe in the sitting room. Michonne dove into the driver seat of Merle's car and Daryl was wrenching open the passenger door when the first bullet struck the window, raining glass shards down on him as he dropped and pulled out a pistol from his belt.

Merle grabbed Andrea around the back of her neck and forced her down as something rang in her ears. She could see Daryl spewing out instructions to Michonne and then the car was moving, picking up speed, shooting away from the farm. Andrea lurched to her feet and opened fire on the front car, allowing Daryl time to scramble back and make a run for the rear end of the house. She emptied her clip and then took off after him as the sounds of battle came back in full and exploded in her ears. By the time she caught up with Daryl she noticed that there was no one to catch up to her. Clutching at a stitch forming in her side, she leaned against the side of the house while Daryl reloaded.

"Where's Merle?" he demanded, shoving a fresh clip into his pistol.

_He was right behind me_, thought Andrea in growing dread. But she realized that she never saw him get up from when he had pulled her down. Comprehension dawned on her and it must have shown on her face, for when Daryl looked at her, he went whiter than the paint on the wall behind him.


	15. Chapter 15: Dealing Cards

**So I started this before I watched the last episode and then I got a lump in my throat from Michael Rooker's amazing performance in that last scene, so now I must finish what I started—as far as this chapter goes. And now we must wait until February? What is this rubbish? By the way, I appreciate EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU who have reviewed this story and sent me feedback. You automatically make my day brighter when I read your comments!**

**DARYL:**

"Diddee go down?" he asked Andrea, surprised to find his voice quite steady as he cocked his pistol. Andrea shrugged, still panting for breath, but she was also ready to meet the enemy when they came around the corner.

"He might have been shot and I didn't even see or hear," said Andrea and her hands shook slightly. "There was an odd ringing in my ears. What happened to Michonne?"

"I gave her directions on how t'get t'my camp. If she makes it, Rick'll send help for us. 'Til then, we just gotta hold out."

One car came veering around the corner and Andrea gave a bit of a strangled laugh. "Hold out, that's a good one." She kept both hands firmly around her pistol but didn't raise it as men leaned out of their windows to point automatics at them. Daryl's grip was sweaty and slacking around his weapons, both of which would be utterly useless at this distance.

"Let me do the talking," Andrea whispered, barely moving her lips.

"You're a long way from home," called one of the men tauntingly, fixing Andrea with a lustful glare. "I have a lump on the back of my head the size of a baseball. Do you have any idea how fucking much it hurts?"

"A lot, I hope," Andrea retorted. She widened her stance and straightened up as she added, "You can still drive away and we can pretend like this never happened."

"You should know by now that that's not how things work for the good citizens of Woodbury, Andrea," said another man, stepping out of the driver's seat to one of the cars. From what Daryl could tell, he was a good half foot taller than Merle though rather weak-looking in some areas. He leaned against his door, arms folded over the top as he swung his foot back and forth almost in a playful manner while watching Andrea.

"Well then, I hope you're a good shot," said Andrea with a sort of finality but before she could let off her first round the man pointed sharply to his right and despite himself, Daryl turned. The last of the vehicles came slowly creeping forward at an angle and behind it there was a rope trailing in the grass with (Daryl's heart beat madly against the inside of his chest) a body attached to the end. He could not tear his eyes away, spellbound as the truck drove up alongside the others but as it came to a stop, Daryl saw that one of the body's hands was holding onto the rope that was strung around the neck.

Two men climbed out the back of the pickup, cut the rope, and dragged Merle towards the first car to the man who had pointed. At this distance, Daryl concluded that Merle appeared mostly unscathed but for a bloody nose and a cut lip, but he seemed dazed and as his head bent forward at the neck a blow to his forehead caught the morning light. Half conscious, he had done his best to keep the rope from strangling him over the short distance the pickup drove.

_Hard-ass_, thought Daryl. _He never quits._

Grabbing what small amount of Merle's hair he could, the apparent leader held Merle's head up straight and then put a pistol to his temple. Beside Daryl, Andrea made an involuntary movement.

"I gotta hand it to him," said the leader with a very forced grin. "He had us all going for a while, thinkin' that you were just a plaything for him to use at night, but somehow, knocking out the sentries, breaking outta Woodbury in the dead've night, stealin' supplies and a car, and drivin' all the way out here just doesn't seem like something a man would do for a plaything."

"He never had doubts before I showed up," said Andrea and there was a definite note of panic in her voice now. She knew, like Daryl, that the longer she talked, the better chance she had of keeping that bullet out of Merle's skull. "It was my fault for screwing with his head when he had already made up his mind on what he wanted. I asked him to get me out."

The man laughed, cold and heartless. "How stupid you think I am? You expect me to believe that load of horseshit? No, I think that your arrival showed his true colors. I had had suspicions about him and his limbo with loyalty, but you helped clear that up, so thank you."

Merle spat out a line of blood, though he said nothing. Daryl tried to catch his eye, tried to look for a sign, but his brother gave him nothing.

"What I don't understand," the man continued, "is why you're going to all this trouble to defend him. I could tell just by the way you'd look at him that you weren't enjoying your night sessions together, but now I'm startin' to doubt that those even happened. You feel nothing for him, do you? That's tough love for ya, and ain't it a bitch?" He let go of Merle and tapped his shoulder nonchalantly. "Stand up, Merle."

One leg at a time, Merle staggered to his feet, jaw set and eyes cast straight ahead, not at Daryl, not at Andrea, but at the space right between them.

"Go to them," the man ordered.

_It can't be that easy_. _Merle'll get halfway to us and then that son've a bitch'll shoot 'im in the back've the head._

"Stop," he said, his voice toneless to hide his emotions just as he had been taught, or was it _trained_? Had Merle's lessons prepared him for this moment? _Careful now,_ he warned himself. _One wrong word and all've us're dead._

"And who're you?" asked the man, slowly putting his weapon away, at least for the moment.

_He can't tell._ It wasn't much, but it gave Daryl a bit of hope. The similarities between him and Merle were not immediately clear to someone who had never seen them together. _Thank God I look like Ma._

"Who's the douchebag?" Daryl muttered to Andrea without taking his eyes from the man in charge.

"The Governor," she responded in an undertone.

"I said, who are you?" the Governor repeated with a bit of impatience in his voice.

Merle made a sound in the back of his throat. It was barely audible and if Daryl hadn't been waiting for his brother to do something he wouldn't have caught it, but it was a warning; don't say anything, don't do anything stupid, and _don't_ reveal any valuable information. But who was Merle to deal out precautions when he was the one hardly able to stand on his own two feet? When he held off the men, thus allowing Daryl and Andrea to reload their weapons, he had handed over all of the cards. And Daryl knew how to play with cards.

"I've been holdin' up here for a few weeks," Daryl replied smoothly.

"You seem mighty friendly with these two," the Governor pointed out, nodding at Merle and Andrea.

"They caught me sleepin'," Daryl invented. "Told me they didn't wanna hurt nobody, just scoutin' 'round for supplies. Next thing, all y'all're drivin' up the road with guns blazin' scarin' the shit outta everybody."

"What happened to the other woman?" the Governor demanded.

"She stole the damn car, that's what she did," said Andrea most helpfully.

The Governor narrowed his eyes suspiciously, looking from Daryl to Andrea to Merle and back again until finally his eyes came to rest on the house behind them and his face cracked into a malicious grin. "This is the farm you said you were at when you got separated," he said to Andrea and he wasn't asking. Her silence confirmed his statement. His head bobbed in a self-satisfied way and then he looked to Daryl—no, not Daryl, Daryl's crossbow.

_Oh, shit_.

The thought was clear on Andrea's face as she tensed and let out a soft gasp; it was clear on Merle's face as his eyes closed in resignation, hidden from the men behind him. And it was crystal clear on the Governor's face.

"That's a nice crossbow you got there, son."

The Governor's hand plunged down to where his holster sat on his hip and in one fluid motion Merle had leapt forward, blocked Daryl from view and spun around to face the enemy. His arms rested at his sides and for the first time Daryl took note of the strange contraption connected to his wrist. He might never get to ask how Merle came by such an appendage.

"Don't," Merle said in a bit of a garbled voice and spat out more blood.

"If you wanna go first, it makes no nevermind to me, Merle," said the Governor conversationally, plucking his pistol from its case, though he was moving with deliberate slowness to build unnecessary tension.

"You dumbass, get outta the way-," Daryl began, but Merle stepped backward on his toe and hissed, "Shuddap."

The Governor laughed again.

"You can't," said Andrea. "He didn't do anything wrong; neither of them did! Michonne and I were the ones who painted on the gate and displayed those walkers. I'll accept the consequences of my actions, but I'm not afraid to beg either. Not for me, but for humanity's sake, Phillip. You said that Woodbury was a chance to show people that they can rebuild the life they had before all of this. That means trying to get a grasp on humanity again, right? Well, ask yourself; is what you're doing moral?"

_Dale wouldda been proud've her_, thought Daryl sentimentally.

"We're just people trying to survive, same as you. Please, just let us be. We're not threat to you," Andrea finished and to prove her point she dropped her handgun, kicking it away to remove temptation from her path. She glanced sideways at Daryl and though he was loathe to part with his crossbow, he had no other option. He dropped his pistol and shadowed Andrea. It took all of his self restraint to not just let one off into the Governor's wide forehead, but he gradually lowered his crossbow to the ground with one hand held up as a symbol of his good faith.

A thousand thoughts seemed to be rushing through the Governor's mind as he stared at the three of them, weighing the possibilities. Daryl swallowed, aware of how very parched his throat was. He hadn't eaten, hadn't had anything to drink, hadn't pissed since the night before. The bit about Merle, Andrea, and this other woman catching him as he slept was true at least. The sun was rising in the east, casting shorter and shorter shadows out from their sides. In front of him Merle's neck glistened with sweat, dirt, and a bit of blood.

At last, the Governor nodded to the men in his car who piled out, all armed and ready to shoot off a cap at a moment's notice or a fleeting signal from their leader. He took three steps forward.

"Walk towards me, Merle," he said in a business-like tone.

"No," Merle responded curtly and Daryl realized with a pang in his stomach that his tough-as-nails, emotionless, stubborn, seemingly invincible brother was afraid—for him. Merle feared to move beyond where he stood, feared what might happen if he was no longer present to shield Daryl. But if he didn't obey, he would die with that fear.

"Move your ass," Daryl murmured, nudging the back of Merle's calf with his boot.

"All right, I'll make this easier for you," said the Governor. "Andrea, move ten paces to your left. Daryl, do the same to your right."

Andrea gave a small nod of affirmation, but Daryl didn't like where this was going. If the Governor was planning on heeding Andrea's pleas, why was he separating them?

"Do as I say, boy."

It was a no bullshitting command. Daryl sidestepped ten feet to his right.

"All of you on your knees."

_Fuck!_

He had called it; they were all too far away from their weapons or each other now to cause any resistance and they had fallen right into the a trap so obvious that not even a walker could have been a victim to it.

Andrea was the first to react, shouting and cursing at the Governor as three men fell upon her and pinned her down though she fought and kicked for as long as she could. Daryl never did go to his knees. He was running back to where he had set his crossbow and pistol down and Merle was hobbling towards him. A giant of a man with bulging muscles tackled Merle around the middle and both of them went down hard. Merle kicked backwards and clawed at the grass with his one hand to pull himself forward. Fixated on his brother, Daryl was too slow in realizing that no less than five men were almost upon him. He remembered his knife at the last possible second and swiped the air with it, missing by a quarter of an inch as someone from behind latched their arms around his stomach. Daryl brought his knees to his chest and kicked out at the man in front of him, propelling both him and his attacker backwards into the house. A third man sent his fist into Daryl's gut once, twice, three times before moving to his face.

"Get your fuckin' hands off've him!" Merle roared as another two men added to the dogpile the first had started.

Something hard and blunt came down over Daryl's head and Merle slid out of focus. Somewhere, Andrea was screaming…


	16. Chapter 16: Last Minute Doubts

**MERLE:**

Worse than anything else was waiting and not knowing what was coming. Bound by a line of rope tied to their wrists—or in Merle's case, his attachment straps and left wrist—he, Andrea, and a still unconscious Daryl sat in the far corner of a virtually empty room plated with a cheap metal material. His jaw ached from where Shupert had punched him and the rest of his body was in pain from the short but brutal drive from the front of the house to the side where Daryl and Andrea had made their stand. If only time had been on his side, he could have gotten them into the car with Michonne before the armed men closed in, but as fate would have it, time gave him the middle finger. He couldn't remember much from the drive back to Woodbury since the men had nearly beat him into unconsciousness, though the memory of being dragged out of the truck tailgate and thrown into the room was quite clear.

That had been at least eight hours ago and though Merle knew the respite would not last, he was glad of the long summer day to spare them whatever tortures the Governor had in store in them for a few more hours at least. The persecution would happen in the late night and early morning hours when the rest of Woodbury was asleep so that the screams would not be heard by as many people.

Andrea never said a word to him and had not looked at him since they had been tossed unceremoniously into the back of the truck together, but he found that he didn't care. She could do whatever the hell she wanted because he had found Daryl—and landed all three of them in the biggest shithole ever.

_Good goin', dumbass._

"I'm sorry," said Andrea so suddenly that Merle jumped and winced as his bruised ribs protested his movement.

"What?" he croaked.

"I'm sorry," she repeated a little louder and slower, "for getting you into this mess, for that stint with the gate and the walkers, for not just letting things happen like how you wanted. We could have avoided all of this if I had."

Her apology meant nothing to him now. If she had only given it two days ago, things might have been different and he might have accepted it, but as it was, he felt nothing. He shook his head. "Would never've found Daryl if you'd done like I toldja to anyway. Don't matter now."

"Daryl would have a chance of survival if I'd minded my own business," Andrea pointed out irritably.

"You can't blame yourself because the Governor's a sick son've a bitch, woman, and it ain't makin' our situation any better off, so drop it," Merle retorted.

"I never asked you to interfere in the first place," Andrea snarled, sitting up as best she could with her hands bound behind her. "If you weren't so meddling and stuck-up, Michonne and I could have gone off alone and saved all of us the trouble of being killed!"

Merle didn't believe his ears. _"I'm_ stuck up?" he thundered. "Bitch, you're too nosy for your own good, so how many times did I end up savin' your pathetic ass, huh? Where d'you get the _gall_ t'put me down like that? I tried my fuckin' hardest t'make everything work out, no thanks t'you and your pride, stubbornness, and stupidity, so don't you go tellin' me that I'm _stuck-up_!"

"You should have left me where you found me, Merle. All you're good for is saving your own ass and now it looks like you failed at that too."

"SHUT UP! FUCKIN' SHUT _UP!_" he bellowed, coming to his knees to rage at her. If only his hands were free, he could…could what? Slap her? Raise a threatening hand to strike her? What good would that do now? It would accomplish absolutely nothing and make the tension in the air even worse as her shimmering blue irises glared at him until they took her away for the last time.

Thankfully Daryl chose that moment to jerk out of the realm of unconsciousness and mutter, "Merle…"

Giving Andrea one last scathing look he turned to his brother who opened one bloodshot eye, but closed it almost instantly against the harsh light from the one light bulb that occasionally guttered and cast them all into temporary darkness. Merle nudged Daryl's arm with his knee to let him know that he was close, but he kept his distance as much as he could and did not speak out of anxiety more than anything else. He had not had the chance to hold a proper conversation with his baby brother since reuniting with him and now that he had that chance, he was at a loss as to what he should say. What does one say after a year living on a string of hope that one's brother is alive and finally finding him only to await execution of the most gruesome sort?

"You're bleedin'."

"Y'don't say?" Daryl moaned. "Where…where are we?"

_Oh, we're in an inescapable cell waiting for the people who initially saved me t'come and finish us off one by one. Excitin', innet?_"Um…"

"Go back to sleep, Daryl," said Andrea, her voice soft and soothing. She scooted over to Daryl and with some difficulty stroked his hair with her fingers until his scrunched brow and bared teeth relaxed and he began to breathe deeply.

Merle caught Andrea's eye and held her gaze, though it took almost all of his willpower not to look away in shame. She had just spared him the weighty task of telling Daryl that they were about to die. If they were lucky, Daryl would face quick death without ever waking up again. The thought struck a hard lump in Merle's throat and he had difficulty swallowing for a moment before he managed to mumble, "Thanks."

Andrea said nothing.

_Damn that woman; she could make silence as painful as a bullet to the thigh_.

"Look," he said awkwardly, "I ain't one much for apology and I'm no good with words either, but I'm sorry for—well, for everything. I tried, I really did."

Andrea sighed. "Just because protecting me turned out to be an utter failure doesn't mean your heart wasn't in the right place, Merle. I had doubts—_big_ doubts—about whose side you were on and what your motives were, but I figured them out this morning. It wasn't me you stepped in front of when the Governor threatened to shoot. I don't care if all you ever really wanted from me was the chance to say we actually did sleep together; I sort of figured that out a long time ago. What changed my mind about you and who you cared about was the way you stood up right in front of your brother without hesitation with all the odds against you. You were prepared to take that bullet for him, even if it meant you were just prolonging his life by a few seconds. That one action let me know how serious you've been about finding him all along and I know you've taken care of any doubts Daryl had about you as well."

"But it all went t'hell anyway, didn't it?" said Merle, fighting back the crack in his voice. This was worse than wondering if Daryl had been turned into a biter to roam around aimlessly until he decayed and disintegrated into dust or was put down by a passing survivor. He, Merle, had led the Governor straight to the farm and unknowingly to his brother who would surely have survived if Merle hadn't come. He would be the cause of Daryl's death and he would go to his grave shortly before or after him with that weight on his shoulders to face his judgment for his actions in the apocalypse.

"You didn't know," said Andrea. "There's no way you could have known that the Governor would follow you or that Daryl was even there."

"He's my brother," said Merle and he had to bite down hard on his lip to keep the emotion back. He couldn't stop the liquid running out of his left eye, though, and he turned away from her, resting his forehead against his propped up knees.

"Merle…"

"No," he said sharply before Andrea could get going again. If she said anything else, he was sure that he would erupt into a fit of uncontrollable tears and he could not afford to break down in front of her and Daryl in these last moments. He wouldn't let the Governor break him even before the breaking process began.

Was there nothing he could do to save them? Words would fail him as they always had. He had no friends to save him because they all thought he was a backstabbing bastard who chose two outcast women over the people of Woodbury. The Governor would have Andrea raped, he was certain of it. She would be handled by all the men who had ever wanted her and then forced through a very slow death. Merle would face the worse sort of torment imaginable at the hands of men who had fought alongside him. But Daryl—he would not be killed until the Governor found out exactly where the other Atlanta survivors were and Merle knew that Daryl would never reveal the location. If Daryl was still with the others a year after Atlanta, Merle guessed that his baby brother had grown to care for them as a family and he would never give up any information about them. It might take him days to die from the torture, or even weeks.

Merle could not let that happen, not when he could prevent it. He would face hell and eternal damnation for it, but Daryl would face a whole lot less. Steeling himself for the task ahead, he worked furiously to squeeze his wrists out of his bonds, but the rope was fastened tight to one of the straps on his appendage.

"What are you doing?" asked Andrea quizzically.

"Help me outta this," he pleaded.

"What are you going to do?"

"Just help me!"

Andrea put her back to his and her hands found his wrists. She worked at the ropes, fumbling with the knots for several minutes before Merle felt the strain on his wrists lessen. He slipped his hand and stump out of the rope and then stretched it out to full length, wondering if it would be long enough. As he measured it, Andrea's eyes suddenly grew stormy and dawning appeared on her face.

"No," she said. "You can't do that. There could still be a chance for us and you're just going to kill him without even trying?"

"What chance is there?" he demanded. "Y'gonna sweet talk Phillip and Shupert and Martinez into lettin' us go with the promise that you'll have sex with 'em in turn? Y'gonna get Daryl t'give up your friends in exchange for our safety? It ain't gonna work, sweetheart. All've us are as good as dead, and the only thing we can do is go out on our terms. I've got the strength t'snap a neck or bash a skull in, but this rope could be used as a noose. I-I'll take care've Daryl and then, if y'want, I can do you, which'll just leave me. I'll face 'em."

"You can't," said Andrea again. "I won't let you."

"I don't need your permission," Merle snapped at her. "He's _my_ brother and he'd do the same for me. If this is all I can do for him, by God, I'm gonna do it!"

"Do what?" asked a voice from the doorway and Merle spun around to face the Governor and four men behind him who all had automatics pointed directly at Merle and Andrea.

**Okay, everyone, I am deeply sorry for taking so long to update. The season ended and right after that I had finals for college, then the holiday rush of gift buying and wrapping, celebrating, preparing, etc. You know how it goes. I think that's a valid excuse, but all the same, my apologies. It was**_**not**_**a brain fart that kept me from updating! Anyway, I hope you'll keep with the story and I'll try to update again shortly (as in within a week). Thanks for being patient and for following/reviewing!**


	17. Chapter 17: Desperate

**ANDREA:**

She wanted to say something to him because she had never been more terrified for someone other than herself than that exact moment as Merle faced the firing squad. It was like watching a horrible film on repeat as Merle took a step back until his heels met the front of Daryl's legs and he put out his arms. He might not have realized it, but he had just given the Governor a valuable weapon in choosing to protect Daryl yet again. The Governor now knew without a shadow of a doubt that Merle would defend his little brother with his dying breath and that could be used against him.

"Your brother looks like he's having quite the nap there," said the Governor conversationally with his eyes on the rope in Merle's hands. "You weren't planning on strangling him in his sleep, were you? That'd be rude."

Andrea saw Merle's knuckle go white as he wrapped the rope around it to protect his hand. A makeshift set of brass knuckles with the only weapon he had.

"I wouldn't try it, Merle," the Governor told him disapprovingly. "You wouldn't get to raise that rope up to your chest before you went down with twenty bullets in head. Drop it and move aside."

"Or what?" Merle challenged, spreading out his stance like he was about to attack. Andrea felt so helpless sitting on her butt and staring at him, but what could she do? She had never been in less of a position to fight and she hated it.

"I think y'know 'or what'," said the Governor darkly and his smile slipped ever so slightly off of his face.

"Ain't much've a threat considerin' that I'll be dead one way or another, huh? Least you could do t'prove you ain't as much of a coward as y'look is t'take me on without guns."

Shupert looked keen on the idea and Gabe appeared to thoroughly approve, but Martinez and Crowley exchanged doubtful glances. They knew they couldn't measure up to Merle, even if he was badly bruised. Shupert and Gabe, on the other hand, were much bigger in mass and strength. Either way, Merle was going to get seriously hurt and if they stood any chance of escaping, Andrea needed him to be in the best condition possible.

"Move aside, Merle. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"In hell," Merle spat.

The Governor sighed and stepped off to the side. He waved an inviting hand at Crowley and Martinez. "Put all your weapons down and go get him."

"What?" said Crowley.

"You heard me. Go on."

Martinez swore and lunged at Merle who dodged the attack and looped the rope around Martinez's neck in such a rapid motion that Andrea hardly saw it. Merle used Martinez as a human shield as Crowley jumped in to help. He pressed the metallic side of his attachment to Martinez's nose and tugged with his hand until Martinez's eyes started to bulge and he kicked out in protest, knocking Crowley over. Martinez used his body weight to throw Merle backwards into the wall with enough force to bruise his entire backside but Merle held on, gnashing his teeth together so that along with his nearly healed eye and the various cuts and bruises beginning to show from being dragged behind the pickup truck, he looked positively frightening. Andrea couldn't tell if his face or Martinez's was redder, but within seconds Martinez had gone purple and then just as quickly, it shaded blue. Shupert and Gabe leapt in to help without the Governor's consent to save their companion and trampled Crowley in the process. As Shupert made to strike out at Merle with his enormous fist, Merle propelled himself off of the wall with one leg and swung the other up to catch Shupert in the temple. The big man fell sideways, his eyes crossing over as he held his head in pain. Gabe revealed a switchblade which he stabbed at Merle and to Andrea's utter amazement, Merle sprang off of his feet and latched his calves around Gabe's neck. Together all three of them fell to the ground as Gabe's knife fell from his grasp while he attempted to pry Merle's legs away from his throat.

Andrea rocked back and forth a few times to gain momentum and then came onto her knees just as Daryl made a feeble sound in the back of his throat. She crawled to him and straddled one of his legs, thinking that this was the best she could do to protect him as the fight raged on only a few feet away. Merle was bleeding from his lips under the strain to throttle Martinez and Gabe was waving his arms like mad to get free. Crowley had finally regained his breath from being kicked in the stomach and Shupert was sitting up. All the while the Governor watched from the doorway with his arms casually folded. At any time he could break up the fight and save his men with the pull of a trigger but he didn't. He was actually _enjoying_ the fight and Andrea felt a wave of disgust greater than anything she had ever felt for rapists, molesters, and murderers.

Merle was fighting for Daryl with everything he had. He was desperate and weaponless and yet he was winning the fight whereas the other men were following orders with no real motivation or need, and yet the Governor did not call them off or allow them to take up arms again.

Suddenly Merle sat up, his hand and limb falling away from the grayish-blue face of Martinez and with a jolt Andrea realized that Merle had killed him with nothing but a line of rope and his own strength. Merle kicked his heel into Gabe's face, smashing his nose in and then he ran to where Crowley was getting up and kneed him in the mouth so that a few teeth parted company with his gums. Crowley howled and clapped his hands over his mouth as Merle kicked him three times in the ribs and then elbowed Shupert in the eye before sending the toe of his boot straight up into his face. He made a round-house kick and sent Shupert sprawling face-first onto the floor and then spun towards the Governor. Andrea heard the click of the weapon and screamed a warning.

Merle fell to one knee, his stump moving uselessly to the spot along his bicep where the bullet had grazed him but almost immediately he dashed sideways to stand in front of Andrea and Daryl.

"You don't know desperation like I do," he growled, panting heavily. Andrea watched in a sick sort of fixation as the blood trickled down his arm, following the pattern of the veins under his skin so that the design looked like an intricate cobweb. "I bested all four've your bitches and killed one've 'em. They took me on four t'one and lost. What y'think your chances are, eh?"

Andrea stood up very slowly without making a sound so that she was perfectly in line behind Merle.

"I guess we'll never find out," said the Governor with a shrug. From behind him Tim appeared leading another two men in and all three of them came at Merle at once. He was exhausted and outnumbered but he took up the defensive stance once again. Andrea bowled into him from behind, knocking him sideways as the men rushed at him. He hit the ground on his right side and Andrea only just saved her face by moving her head so that it landed on Merle's thigh.

"Stay down," she shouted before a pair of hands grabbed her and brought her to her feet. She didn't recognize the man who held her, but she saw Gabe picking up his knife and looking disoriented as he shuffled sideways while Shupert and Crowley backed up towards the Governor. Tim and the other man were carrying Daryl out the door and then Merle snapped. By some miracle the man holding Andrea did not aim properly and though his bullet rebounded off the metal walls as it just narrowly missed Merle's head, the bullet never found a human mark. Merle completely bulldozed over him and sprang into a dive, tackling Crowley who was closest and on his way out.

Andrea fell sideways, struggling to regain her feet as her captor crawled to the doorway. Merle scrabbled and fought to take Crowley's gun but Shupert picked Merle up by the waist and flung him aside, bashing his entire body into the wall. He raised the butt of his automatic and smashed it down into Merle's face, all the while standing on his hand to prevent him from using it. When he pulled back, Merle didn't move, his eyes swimming.

Shupert and Andrea's captor dragged Crowley out by his arms and without a word the Governor slammed the door shut. Andrea heard the lock turn and finally caught her breath as the images of the past few minutes raced through her head in fast motion. Martinez was dead, Merle had killed him and wounded three of the others, Daryl had been taken, and now Merle was lying on the floor not moving.

It took a few moments but Andrea finally managed to wriggle her way to where Merle had fallen and she propped herself up to get a look at his face. There was a cut running from just under his nose to the bottom of his lower lip in addition to all the other marks he bore, but that wasn't what disturbed her. The tears of loss brewing in his eyes were what unhinged all the thoughts she had had about this man. If Merle Dixon could cry, the impossible had to be possible. His chest was heaving but the rest of his body remained still while the tears rolled off the apple of his cheeks.

"Merle," Andrea began, but words failed her. She didn't know what she could say to help him. In pushing him aside, she knew she was risking Daryl's protection, but she had to make a choice and if she hadn't shoved Merle out of the way, the Governor or Tim would have shot him between his eyes. She hated to admit it and felt sullied for it, but she needed Merle more than Daryl.

"Merle, I'm so sorry, I-,"

She broke off, turning her head slowly in the direction of Martinez's body, but as her eyes settled on it, she saw that it was sitting upright and a low, guttural sound came out of its mouth as the biter locked its eyes on her.


	18. Chapter 18: Failure

**ANDREA:**

The walker's eyes were veiled and Andrea was reminded horribly of Amy. Her sister had had the smallest trace of blue left in her eyes when they opened after being bitten, but the misty quality was overpowering and the thing that had reached out to stroke her hair was not Amy. This thing now in the room with her and Merle was the same sort of monster and she was in no position to defend herself. She tapped her knee against Merle's shoulder repetitively, murmuring his name in growing urgency.

"Merle, get up. Get up now…"

Merle swallowed and looked at her. She couldn't read his face because it seemed to be displaying every type of emotion known to man, but she had more pressing matters to deal with like that fact that the walker was rolling onto its side with its mouth hanging open so that saliva dripped from its lower lip.

"Merle—Martinez is a walker. Get up and untie me, hurry!"

"W-what?" asked Merle blankly, his eyes fluttering as if he were coming out of a daze.

Andrea used her knee to strike him in his already bruised ribs. "There's a walker in the room, damn it!"

He flipped onto his stomach and his eyes settled on the walker now staggering towards them with only about fifteen feet left to cover. Andrea bent double and charged, ramming into the walker with her head with enough force that was sure to raise a lump the size of an acorn but her weight threw the walker completely off balance and she had the fact that it was a very new walker to thank for its slow reaction. Now on her back with her legs flaying about to try and help her back up, she kept the walker in her sights as it stumbled onto its feet once again. It saw her and stuck out its arms like a sick imitation of a baby reaching for a desirable toy and Andrea scrambled to crawl away on her rear end, but the walker was faster. She put one leg up and kicked the walker in its groin, though it had absolutely no effect on the corpse. Cursing she used both legs and managed to push it with enough strength to knock it over a second time.

"Merle!" she cried, looking around for him.

The walker was surprisingly quick in regaining its feet and lunging at her and in her moment of distraction, she did not bring her legs up in time to kick it again. Nasty, cold fingers closed around her ankles and she twisted madly to fight it off but without the use of her hands, it was only a matter of time before—

Merle's arms closed around the walker's midsection and he lifted the body completely off of the ground as it continued to claw at Andrea. He used his right arm to hold the walker in place as it stupidly looked around for the source of its moving and Merle bent it into a forty-five degree angle with its head pointed straight for the wall. With as much of a running start as he could muster he drove the walker's head straight into the wall, backed up, and went again. He did this six times before the skull caved in and blood splattered out in all directions and he dropped the corpse, swaying in place so that he had to rest his shoulder against the metallic wall plating for balance.

Andrea felt her heartbeat beginning to slow down and closed her eyes for a moment to say a silent thanks for Merle Dixon. When she opened them again Merle was bending over her legs, examining her ankles for any scratches. He looked terrible with red puffy eyes, blood, and a multitude of dark colors coating his normally tan face which was now pale. He used his hand to pull her up by the front of her shirt and then ran it over her head and shoulders for one last glance over before moving to undo her ropes.

"How hurt are you?" she asked, watching him move gingerly onto one knee.

"Cracked ribs maybe," he said in a voice that sounded absolutely nothing like his own. "Broken nose, flesh wound, the works."

"Maybe you should lie down," she suggested.

"And what good's that gonna do?" he replied as her wrists came free. She massaged the chafed skin and took the rope from him, wondering how she could use it as a weapon that the Governor would not be expecting. All they had were the ropes and the clothes they wore, which wouldn't do them much good. Then she had an idea.

She scurried over to Martinez's twice deceased body and began running her hands over his shirt and pants, searching for a hidden blade of some sort. He had a watch on his wrist which she yanked off and set aside before passing on to his jacket where she discovered a pocket knife that clicked out at the touch of a button.

_Thank God._

"Here," she said, handing the knife over to Merle who had come to see what she was doing. She looped the rope around her left fist like Merle had done and then clasped the watch around her right. Getting punched by a Rollex would leave a sting for sure.

"When they come back-,"

"No," said Merle, cutting her short. "You're not fightin' this time. I'll do it."

"You'll need my help and I'm in better fighting condition than you," Andrea pointed out.

"Any one've those men could knock you on your ass in two seconds without half tryin'. Just stay the hell outta the way and lemme do it."

"You've seen me take down walkers and stand up to Shupert," she said angrily. "If you didn't want me to fight, why did you encourage it with inviting me on top of the wall and wanting me to come see you in the arena? I'm not a child, Merle, you don't have to protect me and in this situation you won't be able to anyway, so stop trying."

Merle was about to protest when the Governor's voice broke the sound barrier. It sounded completely insane and well beyond reason. "WHERE THE HELL ARE THE OTHERS, DARYL?"

Andrea's heart stopped and a chill ran between her shoulder blades as she heard Daryl's retort.

"Fuck you!"

Merle threw himself against the door, ramming with his full body weight until cuts began to open along his arms and swelling bruises broke out over his skin. Andrea didn't know what sort of metal the door was made of, but marveled as a dent appeared where Merle drove his stump into it. He was shouting now, garbled, undistinguishable words spilling from his mouth as quickly as the blood. Watching him made Andrea fear for his sanity as he backtracked a few steps and flew at the door again and again. She came forward, hesitantly at first, but when Merle resorted to using his head to break the door down, she quickly grabbed him around the neck and drew him back, forcing him to sit down as she kept a firm grip on his jugular just in case she needed to restrain him again. He tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but for once his missing limb provided her with the advantage and she held fast.

"Stop it," she yelled over his roars. "Merle, that's enough, you're not helping him!"

"Leggo! Fuckin' gerroff—bastard—not my brother—coward!"

"_Merle, enough!"_

Neither of them could have predicted what came next. Daryl's screams were unlike any sound Andrea imagined a Dixon could make. Gruesome, gory, horrifying images passed through her head at the thought of what the Governor must be doing to Daryl and there was no way to help him or block out that terrible sound. When the screams hit such a pitch that Andrea had to clap her hands over her ears, Merle seized his chance and went for the door once again, though now his own voice added in agonizing harmony to his brother's.

"YOU'RE KILLIN' HIM!" he bellowed, jamming his knuckle into the door with such ferocity that he left dark red smears with flecks of skin on the metal. "DARYL! _DARYL!_"

Quite as suddenly as they had started, the shrieks stopped and the two of them exchanged looks of dread. The door flew open and Merle sailed backwards into the wall, sliding down onto the floor as the Governor entered dragging Daryl by the back of his collar. His hands were bloody and Andrea spotted mutilated areas on Daryl's person as the Governor let him drop in the middle of the floor. Two of Daryl's left-hand fingers were missing and the remaining three had had the nails torn off. The skin was flayed on the middle finger, leaving raw flesh behind. A closer look at his back revealed long lines of blood that merged into one great red mass through his shirt. Andrea was sure that there were more wounds, but she couldn't find them in the dim light.

"When he comes to, you tell him that I'll take the rest've his fingers and his whole arm just like you if I have to," said the Governor to Merle, spitting on the back of Daryl's head. Merle raised himself off of the ground and stared at Daryl, his eyes not comprehending what he was seeing. Andrea saw that his hands were empty.

The Governor's lips pulled back in a tantalizing smirk. "I tried bein' reasonable with your brother, Merle, but he may be even more stubborn than you are and I've got ways to break that." Slowly he turned on the spot and raised a finger at Andrea. "You're next."

"NO!"

Merle launched himself at the Governor and took out his legs, digging his disarmed stump into the Governor's ribs as his hand raked the Governor's face and gouged through his skin. Seconds later Shupert and Gabe crashed through the doorway and kicked Merle off of him but before they could go any further the Governor called them off. He came slowly to his feet, one hand clamped over the openings in his face.

"That's gonna cost you, Merle." He nodded at Andrea and told Gabe, "Hold her back."

Andrea went into action. She drove her right fist with the watch straight up into the Governor's jaw and actually felt a few of his teeth come free. Her left hand swung around and found his ribs. She packed in at least four more punches before Gabe tore her away and slammed her to the ground so that he was almost kneeling on her stomach, though she was grateful that he didn't because she didn't think she could support his weight. She struggled and he punched her in the cheek with his meaty hand so hard that stars began winking at her in the semi-darkness. Turning her head she saw Shupert pinning Merle's arms down as the Governor sat on Merle's legs but even with both powerful men restraining him, Merle was still moving, battling to throw them off in his fury.

The Governor lifted Merle's blood-and-sweat-soaked wife beater, exposing his heaving stomach. "This'll hurt," he said in a would-be calm voice that was riddled with anger. He flipped open a butterfly knife.

_No. Not now._

"_No!_" Andrea shrieked. "Phillip, you can't!"

"Shut up," hissed Gabe, pressing his hand over her mouth.

Merle hacked up the saliva in the back of his throat and spat, nailing the Governor in his left eye. The Governor wiped it away with his sleeve and then touched the knife blade to Merle's skin. He went slowly, drawing the knife across Merle's skin but Andrea closed her eyes to avoid seeing how deep he went. She could not, however, block out Merle's screams. They hurt her worse than Daryl's had. Merle's vocal chords would surely rip. Andrea felt a tear or two squeeze out of her eyes and then she bit down hard on Gabe's hand so that he withdrew, swearing.

"Leave him alone!" she pleaded. "Take me instead, please! _Please, _Phillip!"

The Governor's eyebrow arched and he pushed Merle's right cheek against the floor so that Merle was forced to look at Andrea. "I think you might've grown on her a bit, Merle."

This couldn't happen. For so long she had convinced herself that Merle would leave her the moment he found Daryl and that nothing good would come of associating with him and she had believed the lies she told herself day after day. But Merle's last act had been defending her and she realized that _she_ wasn't the one who would suffer in the end. Somehow, he had gotten a hold on her in ways she could not explain to anyone including herself, but she would _not_ lose him the way she had lost Amy and Dale. This time she could prevent it. She had to.

"Please," she said again, choking on her own tears. "Please don't."

Merle's eyes never left her, but for once he opened up and let her read him. He was sorry. His head moved a fraction of an inch from side to side.

_You don't have to protect me and in this situation you won't be able to anyway, so stop trying. _He didn't listen to her and he was about to pay the blood price, the mortal cost.

_Stop trying,_ she begged him. _Let me do this._

The Governor lowered the blood-stained blade to Merle's stomach and then Milton appeared in the doorway, bespectacled face dripping in a sheen of sweat. "We've got a problem," he huffed.

**Okay, so maybe I've got some guilty feelings about leaving y'all hanging for so long without compensation, but the ideas are flowing, baby, and I've gotta pump 'em out before I lose 'em! Comments, questions, concerns, rants, or rages? I'm all ears.**


	19. Chapter 19: Impeccable Timing

**MERLE:**

Milton's voice seemed to come from far away at the end of a long, echoing tunnel which was not a good sign at all. The pressure on his legs from the Governor's weight felt detached as did most of his connection with his body. Through scrunched eyes he saw the Governor stand up, saw his mouth moving, but the words slurred together and Merle couldn't make sense of them. The knife in his enemy's hand dripped with blood—_his _blood. How deeply had he cut? What was the damage? Images of Daryl and Andrea swam in and out of focus and then the Governor came back into the forefront, frowning down at him. He nodded to Shupert and then Gabe and the three of them left.

Just like that. For the moment, the torture was over. But it might already be too late. Merle put his hand to the place where he knew the Governor had cut him, wondering if he would have to hold in his own intestines. Andrea's face appeared and she took his head in her hands. Her voice was muffled, but he could read her lips and pieced together what she was saying to him.

_Can you hear me? Can you feel my hands? Merle, talk to me._

He used his stump to guide her hand to his stomach and asked her with his eyes how badly he was wounded. Andrea glanced down, gulped, and then started to take off his breeze shirt. Merle let her, too disoriented and indifferent to care, and as she tore the black fabric into a few strips and tied them all together, he realized what she was trying to do. He put his hand on the back of her neck and held on as she leaned back to help him sit forward. His fingers left blood in her golden-white ponytail and on her skin, but she didn't seem to notice as she looped the line of cloth around his mid section and brought the two ends together in front of him.

"This might hurt," she said apologetically, her voice only slightly out of sync with his brain's comprehension. It wasn't the likely pain that scared him; it was the fact that the Governor had almost used those exact same words only moments ago. She tugged and Merle gasped, lurching forward just as she finished tying of the tourniquet knot.

"H-how bad is it?" he asked.

"Two cuts," said Andrea. "Not too deep, but deep enough to spill a fair amount of blood. The worst part is that you just went into shock and you're not altogether _there_ yet, but you'll survive. You might have passed out if he had kept going, but you're going to be okay. I won't let him do that again, I promise."

"Andrea…"

Andrea continued as if he hadn't spoken though her hands were quivering while using another scrap of his shirt to dab at the blood on his face. "Give me the knife. You could have used it when you attacked Phillip, but you were thinking with your ass again, so let me use it this time. When they come back, I'll keep them off of you long enough for you to steal a gun."

"Andrea-,"

She kept her focus intently on his left shoulder, knotting another line of fabric around the bullet wound and he noticed the clear lines down her face that the tears had left through the dirt. A new bruise was springing up on her right cheekbone and a tear trickled over the tender skin. His hand was still bloody, his knuckles peeling and battered from his encounter with the door, but he extended it nonetheless and brushed his thumb over the bruise.

"Don't…don't _ever_ offer t'take my place again," he said sternly. "I knew the consequences; that's why I took the risk."

"You were going to die, you bastard," she snapped. "You were making me lie there underneath that ten ton meat sack and watch that son of a bitch spill your guts one cut at a time and I couldn't do a fucking thing about it, so don't you—don't you _dare_ tell me I can't help."

"Merle…"

Daryl was stirring, cradling his maimed hand to his chest. With Andrea's assistance Merle scooted over to his brother and lifted one of Daryl's eyelids with his thumb.

"What'd he do t'you?" Merle demanded.

"My fingers," Daryl coughed. "My hands, my back…don't remember much more. Passed out."

Andrea inspected Daryl's back and then his hands before concluding, "He cut you slow with that knife just like he did Merle. Your hands are the worst part."

"Naw, my head is," Daryl moaned, touching a finger gingerly to the lump forming atop his head. "I can still fight—if that's the plan."

"It is," Andrea confirmed. "I don't know what Milton was talking about when he said there was trouble, but it's either a big swarm of walkers trying to break the gates down or survivors passing through in clear sight. Either way it buys us a few minutes to take stock of what we have. We've got a knife, two ropes, a watch—mostly broken—and Martinez's body which we can use as a human shield to pitch at them when they walk through the door. Maybe throwing the body at them will be enough to-,"

The door opened and Andrea spread out her arms in front of Merle as he instinctively reached for the knife in his pocket. Milton stood in the doorway with Daryl's crossbow and knife, a pistol, and Merle's hand attachment in his arms.

"Come on," he said pressingly. "The ruckus on the other side of the walls won't keep them occupied long. We've got about a four minute window and I can sneak you out the back way."

Andrea started forward eagerly, but Merle held her back. "Put them weapons down," he commanded. "Hands on your head and turn 'round." If Milton had a problem with this he didn't show it, complying by quickly spinning around to reveal no hidden weapons whatsoever. He scooped up the weapons again and handed the pistol to Andrea. Before he could move on to Daryl Merle caught him by the belt loops and dragged him down to his knees, clicking the knife to his throat.

"Did Phillip tell you t'help us just so we could get caught or are y'workin' alone?" he growled.

"I do things Phillip asks me to, but he doesn't give me orders," said Milton plainly. "When I saw them bring you back, I knew what he was going to do and I could hear you screaming from my room. I may perform experiments on the biters that some may consider immoral, but I don't approve of what's going on here. Now get up."

He hauled Merle to his feet and then the two of them lifted Daryl by the underarms into a standing position. Daryl took his crossbow and knife from Milton and prepared both of them while Merle hooked the personalized blade back into its slot. When he finished he took a step towards the door and his leg gave out. Milton caught him by the forearm and Andrea wrapped his other one around her shoulders, cocking her pistol in a determined manner.

"Just until the dizziness passes," she said when he gave her a scowl.

"You'll get in some deep shit for this, pal," Daryl warned as Milton led them out the door unarmed.

"No, I'll think up something for the door, but I'll say that you used me as a hostage while you made your way to the walls and then knocked me out once you got free."

"Knocked you out, huh?" Merle repeated. _Thought of nearly everything, didn'tcha, Milt? Didja stop t'think that there's no way in hell he's gonna buy that bullshit story?_

Milton seemed to be reading his thoughts and gave a weak chuckle. "Phillip needs me around; he won't hurt me much."

"That's reassuring," said Andrea.

They came to a corner and Milton peered around it. He gave them the thumbs up and continued on, head spinning right and left almost like a bobble head. Merle leaned against Andrea for support, but contrary to what she had said, he felt worse with every step he took and the nauseous feeling in his cut stomach did not improve. They emerged from the bunker to the sounds of battle and snuck over to the overgrown hedge that concealed a heavily locked door. Milton jammed a key into the first lock and Daryl guarded the rear, still adjusting to the new grip he had to maintain on his crossbow with two fingers gone on a grotesque-looking hand. His back faced Merle and in the lamplight Merle saw his red-stained shirt.

Merle was eternally thankful that nothing worse than a maimed hand and a scarred back had resulted from the Governor torturing Daryl, but he made a silent promise to himself that the Governor would never again get the chance to lay hands on him. He had worked too hard for far too long to find out what became of Daryl and he would not put himself through that fear of losing him to such a gruesome death again, not when it had happened twice already. If things went awry at any point during their escape, Merle knew exactly what his body was capable of doing to prevent further bloodshed on his brother's behalf. No sick-minded, sniveling, fucked up son of a bitch would take the last of his kin.

"There," said Milton at last, unbolting the last lock and opening the door wide for them to file out. "I'm sorry I can't do more, but if you can make it to the river, you can throw them off the scent. They've lost their only tracker, which is you, Merle, but they still have vehicles while you're on foot, so try not to leave footprints. Good luck."

Andrea planted a swift kiss on Milton's cheek in thanks and Daryl gave a brief nod. Merle and Milton looked at each other for a second and then Merle smacked him over the head with the side of his appendage. Milton crumpled, his glasses askew and Daryl rolled him over out of the way of the door so that he could pull it shut behind him.

"Once we get to the river, I can find the way back," Daryl assured them as they slipped into the cover of the trees with the sounds of gunshots and shouts fading behind them.

"Where exactly is 'back'?" asked Andrea, hugging Merle's waist to her to keep him upright.

"It's a prison," said Daryl quietly. "Rick, T-Dog, and the others helped clear it out for the most part and we're hidin' out in one've the cells."

_Well, hot damn_, thought Merle. _Here I was searchin' high'n low for that boy and he's only forty miles away_.

"Did Rick and Shane ever find Randall?"

Daryl came to a halt, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Shane's dead, Andrea. He turned on Rick and tried t'kill 'im and Rick had t'put 'im down. He was the first, but at the prison Hershel got bit and we had t'take his leg off at the calf t'stop the virus from spreadin'. Lori had a baby girl and Carol…" His voice trailed off and Merle thought he read guilt in his little brother's eyes.

"Dead?" Andrea guessed.

"Yeah."

He started walking again and Andrea followed, but by now Merle felt strangely deflated and cold as if someone had punctured him and let all of his bodily heat seep out. If Andrea told it true, his stomach wounds weren't that bad, but what else could be the cause of his pain? The survivor in him urged him to tough it out and keep going, but if he went another step, he knew that something extremely bad would result from his over exertion.

"Stop," he told Andrea and she came to an immediate standstill.

"What is it?" she asked in concern.

"I'm leakin'," he said, touching his tourniquet. His hand came away wet and warm. Daryl checked his wounds and swore.

"What the hell'd he do t'_you_?" he inquired.

"I'm not too sure," said Merle queasily. Daryl undid the tourniquet and Merle turned his head sideways just in time as a long trail of vomit, blood, and spit spewed out of his mouth. Andrea held him up by his sides while he bent over, hand on his left knee. He puked another two times and then nearly face-planted in his own pile, but Daryl put out his arm to keep him steady.

"We can't keep going," Andrea told Daryl. "Not with him like this; the walk will kill him. We need to get him to Hershel."

"I can go ahead," Daryl offered. "I'll bring a car and help; Hershel, Rick, T-Dog, they'll all come when I tell 'em what happened and Hershel can stitch 'im up on the car ride back if he has to."

"It's not safe for you to go alone," Andrea objected, "not in your condition. You're bleeding too-,"

"I ain't the one slumped over hurlin' blood," said Daryl crisply. "Like y'said, he can't walk any further, so I've gotta bring the help t'him. Stay here and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No," said Merle. "We're too close t'Woodbury. They'd find us hours b'fore y'got back. We've gotta go…a little more."

"Milton said we stood a chance if we could make it to the river," said Andrea, looking to Merle. "How far is it? Maybe there's a place that we can hide."

"River's 'bout two miles northwest," said Merle. "Hate t'say it, but there ain't no way in hell I can walk that."

"I know," said Andrea and she nodded to Daryl. She took Merle's legs and Daryl lifted him by the underarms and together they started walking awkwardly in the direction they assumed to be northwest. Merle had several choice swearwords he would have liked to say, but at the moment, he hardly had the strength to keep his eyelids open and within seconds they closed softly while his body fought the raging pain.


	20. Chapter 20: River Run

**DARYL:**

Every time they stopped for a break Daryl expected to lean over and not feel Merle's pulse beating against his fingers, but after the fifth or sixth time he set his brother down and felt the heartbeat, his worries lessened. At any moment he expected this Governor and his cronies to swoop down on them and haul them back to Woodbury in ropes for another round in the hot seat and this fear fueled him to go faster so that several times he walked faster than Andrea and in doing so stretched Merle's body out to full length. If Merle hadn't passed out before, he would surely have done it during the treacherous walk. As he walked he ran over the path to the prison in his head, pulling images from his memory so that he could hike back without stopping. It wasn't locating the prison that had him concerned though; it was finding his way back to Merle and Andrea in time.

"I think that's it up ahead," said Andrea wearily and Daryl squinted to see a patch of moonlight kissing the ground about twenty feet in front of them that seemed to suddenly drop. They waddled closer still carrying Merle between them and breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief at the sight of the river rushing downstream in an eerily silent manner. Daryl set to work removing Merle's bandages, scrubbing and wringing the blood out and then reapplying them as quickly as he could while his brother was still out cold.

"I dunno how deep it is, but I'll use it t'hide my tracks like your friend said," he told Andrea as he scanned the area for a good hiding place.

"I'm not sure if _friend_ is the term I would use," muttered Andrea halfheartedly.

"How y'feel 'bout climbin' trees?" Daryl asked her to which she actually let out a snorting laugh.

"I think that lump on your head addled your brains, Daryl. I could climb a tree, no problem, but your brother can hardly stand much less scale a fifty-foot tree."

"Exactly," said Daryl triumphantly. "Don'tcha think the Governor's gonna be thinkin' the same thing? If he tracks us this far, he'll figure that if y'are hidin', you'll be on the ground, maybe in the shallows with the bank greenery overhangin' t'conceal you. He's not gonna give ya the benefit of the doubt; he won't expect you to be in a tree so close t'where our path meets the river, now will he? Naw, he's gonna think we all went downriver and he'll keep goin' that way, which means this is the safest place t'hide."

She only looked partially convinced, but Daryl was already shaking Merle awake, tapping his face with the backside of his hand until finally his brother winced and tried to shove his hands away.

"Gerroff me…"

"Hey, focus, bro. I need you t'pay attention now." A cut over Merle's eye was dribbling blood down onto his eyelid and Daryl brushed it away impatiently. "I've found a place t'putcha until I come back, but you're gonna have t'help out."

"Where…?" asked Merle groggily.

Daryl pointed to the tree with branches spreading out above the river. It had thick clumps of leaves that were sure to conceal both Merle and Andrea from anyone who happened to glance up. Its lowest branch was at least eight and a half feet up which meant it would be difficult for anyone to climb up after them without help (except perhaps that giant of a man who had held Daryl down while the Governor sliced his fingers off, but he wasn't about to say that out loud). The tree also offered a good vantage point and if anyone did spot them, they'd have the high ground until help arrived.

"Aw, fuck, no," Merle groaned, closing his eyes again as if hoping that when he opened them again the tree would be gone.

"Unless y'wanna walk, this is the best I've got, so man up," said Daryl crisply.

Merle's eyes snapped open and he shot Daryl a filthy look. He used Daryl's forearm to help him stand up and whispered so that Andrea couldn't hear, "If I ever hear ya tell me t'man up again, I'll stick my boot so far up your ass you'll spit it outta your mouth," he threatened. He limped over to the branch and looked straight up with a grim expression but Daryl knew that he wouldn't have any problems getting him to climb now.

Daryl and Merle each took one of Andrea's legs and hoisted her straight up so that she could pull herself onto the branch, swing one leg over, and prepare to help Merle who was already turning a delicate shade of green from the effort. He put his blade extension on safety and licked the sweat off of his upper lip before giving Daryl a nod. It was difficult with one hand burning in agony, but Daryl wrapped his arms around Merle's lower calves and stood up, swaying ever so slightly. Merle hooked his hand over the branch and Andrea took his right forearm, heaving. For one terrifying moment Daryl thought he was going to drop his brother but with a grunt of pain Merle summoned the strength to raise himself onto the branch. Andrea moved aside and made him sit against the trunk while she peered down at Daryl.

"We'll take a quick rest and then climb further up," she assured him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, watching Merle doubtfully. What had it cost him to get up there? Could he hold out until Daryl returned?

_He lived from bleedin' out when he cut his hand off,_ Daryl reminded himself. _These cuts are nothin' compared to that. He'll make it—he has to._

DDDD

The river was deeper than he had anticipated and it came up to his chest before he could even reach the halfway point. He kept to the shallows, splashing and wading with much more noise than was wise, but he didn't have time to be stealthy with Merle's life in jeopardy. If walkers heard him, he could outrun them no problem and he doubted whether anyone from Woodbury was out and about at this time of night. Despite all his planning, though, he was wearing down quite rapidly and his back was throbbing almost as much as his head. His hand was still in the worst shape with its peeled skin, missing digits, and pulled fingernails. The water should have been refreshing on the wounds, but it stung like hot ice every time it touched the skin and he had had some bad experiences with hot ice, so he could make the comparison. His wounds began to take their toll with every passing hour and though dawn offered some relief, it brought about more unease. Time was running out for the two he had left in the tree and the Governor had most likely resolved the problem that man Milton spoke of by now. They would be out searching for their escaped prisoners with blood on the brain.

The sun warmed him from his night pushing through frigid water, but as it climbed the sky it became more of a burden at his back, burning his already pounding head and mutilated back and he half wished for the night to return just to escape the intense heat. He found it odd that he had been going hard at it all night and still had not met up with a walker, but he wasn't complaining. Any sort of close encounter would only drain more energy he couldn't afford to spend. He slowed to a stop and allowed himself two minutes to catch his breath, take a sip of water, maybe make a bandage for his hand. Bending over, he scooped up a handful of water in his right hand—and then he saw the walker corpse floating face-up towards him. It was swollen from the water, its skin purple and bruised looking in places while its sunken eyes and a visible bite mark in the crook of its neck were mottled with various shades of pus yellow and deceased green. Suddenly Daryl found that his need to drink was no longer necessary as he watched the body float by.

He had every intention of continuing on, but then he saw the four walkers trampling each other in their haste to get to him about thirty yards down the river. With some effort he trudged through the mud at the base of the bank and clawed his way up onto the grassy outcrop. It took a moment or two to readjust to walking on his own without the pressure of the river pushing against his legs, but he gathered his wits and started running at a diagonal from the river, deciding he should circle around and put some distance between him and the walkers before coming back to follow the water to the prison.

As he ran, strange thoughts started to occur to him that heightened his sense of urgency and were most likely brought about by his mounting fear. He had passed out from the pain sometime after the Governor moved to his back to start slicing it open. The son of a bitch had yanked the nails out in quick succession, but it took at least a full minute for him to flay the skin on his middle finger and another two minutes to chop off the pinky and ring finger (apparently he had done this sort of thing before and enjoyed taking his time). Daryl remembered screaming and then slowly coming to on the floor with Merle kneeling over him and Andrea hovering nearby. He didn't have to sit through Merle's screams as the Governor sliced through his brother's stomach, thank God, but he thought he had heard Merle hollering and calling his name in between his own screams of agony. Being conked out for the majority of the day certainly left a lag on him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was better off not knowing what had happened beyond closed eyelids.

So lost and wrapped up in his own thoughts was he that his ears didn't pick up the sound of shouting until he could clearly see who it was that was yelling. He nearly dropped to his knees at the sight of the Suburban rolling up to him on what was clearly a dirt path. Without realizing it, he had stumbled on to the side road that led to the prison. Maggie jumped out of the car before it had come to a complete stop and rushed to Daryl with Glenn not far behind. They questioned him, asking in rapid-fire and Daryl's head swam under the weight of what he needed to say.

"What happened to you?"

"Michonne said there were men shooting-,"

"Holy shit, your _hand_-,"

"Where are the others?"

"Didn't they come back with you?"

"Have you seen Rick?"

"Wait," said Daryl, holding up his maimed hand. "What's this 'bout Rick? He ain't back at the prison?"

"No," said Glenn concernedly. "When Michonne drove up, we nearly shot her down because she was shouting and raging that something had happened to you and she was bringing walkers to the gate with all of that noise, but then she said Andrea was alive and so was Merle. We didn't trust her, but she described you and the barn in full detail and Rick took her and Tee to that Woodbury place. They left yesterday midday and we decided to go out looking. The others are holed up in the prison."

"Andrea and Merle are hidin'," Daryl explained, fumbling with the words on his parched tongue. "We were captured, tortured, but someone inside helped us escape. I left 'em in a tree up the river, but Merle's hurt bad and the men from Woodbury will be lookin' for 'em."

"We can drive back," offered Millie.

"No, we'll have t'walk the last mile and keep a low profile," said Daryl. "We'll have to—to…" He slipped and nearly face-planted when Maggie threw out her arms to catch him.

"Water and a few minutes rest first," she said firmly, "then we'll decide what to do."


	21. Chapter 21: In Limbo

**ANDREA:**

Every rustle of leaves sent her into a fit of nervous sweat. Every whistle from a bird was a bad omen signifying the Governor's approach. Andrea was finding it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open and more than once she had to give herself a hard pinch to stay awake. She was exhausted in every way possible; she hadn't slept since Merle awoke her from their shared bed in what seemed like years ago, her body was sore from all the beatings she had taken, her mind had all but exploded under the weight of her mixed emotions and she wanted nothing more than to set her back against the tree trunk and doze for just five minutes, but she didn't.

Their safety depended on her staying awake and alert in case someone or something came prowling around and in the middle of the day, they could not be in a more dangerous situation. Once in a while she would glance in the direction Daryl had gone, fooling herself into thinking that she could see him as a tiny speck on the horizon returning with help at his heels, but she realized that it was only hallucinations resulting from her dehydration. She didn't know how far away this prison was, but the way Daryl made it sound, it was quite far for one person to walk to—and a healthy, strong person at that—but the time it was taking him to gather reinforcements was time that Merle might not have.

He mostly slept, though he would jerk awake a few times and reach for a pistol at his hip that was not there. Andrea wanted to sit closer to him, but was afraid that he might grab her and attack her at some point out of sheer panic. As opposed to when they had climbed the tree, he didn't look like he was about to be sick now, but his face was still a complete mess. The only saving grace was that he had finally stopped bleeding.

At midday she found herself rocking in place, observing the ground many feet below, for about an hour after Daryl had left, she persuaded Merle to climb up until they reached the last branch that could safely hold both of their weight. Her temples were pounding and she thought for a moment that she was going to pass out and plummet to the earth, or maybe miss the ground completely and go splashing into the river. Biting down on her thumb, she turned to Merle and then nearly did fall because he was staring at her through bloodshot eyes and a half-crazed grin.

"Hi," he said hoarsely.

"Damn it, Merle, don't _do_ that," she said peevishly.

"Kinda jumpy, aren'tcha?"

"I am not in the mood right now for your sarcasm, so just go back to sleep; you're easier to deal with that way."

Merle shook his head, wrapping his hand around his stomach and leaning forward with a grimace. "I've been watchin' ya for the past ten minutes, sweetheart, and you ain't gonna last much longer if y'try'n keep them peepers open. Switch me places; I'll take over on watch for you t'get a half hour've sleep in."

"You're in no condition-," she began, but Merle pinched her leg with his fingernails and after a moment, the pain reached her brain so that she tried to shake him off.

"See?" he said to prove a point. "Delayed reaction t'pain. You're fatigued and in after-shock. Take thirty, it's okay. I'm plenty rested and I need t'get my senses back into swing anyway if I'm gonna climb down from here without breakin' my neck. C'mon."

It was a tight fit sidling along the branch so that Andrea could lean against the trunk, but they managed it in the end. It was blissful, almost heavenly getting the opportunity to close her eyes and being able to keep them like that. She imaged that she saw Amy sitting beside her, rubbing her back in comforting circles and offering her a water bottle. Dale stood guard over her with his Hawkeye Rifle and tan fisherman's cap. His bulging brown eyes regarded her kindly, twinkling with the love he nurtured for her until the day he died. Andrea didn't recognize their surroundings; it was a valley strewn with wild grass growing up to waist height and pheasants poking their heads up every now and then as the rustle of the wind through the early summer leaves filled the air and echoed between two enormous mountains. She had never seen this place before, but in that moment she wished that she could remain here forever. No walkers, no opportunists, no anything, unless she wanted it to appear there.

She saw the likeness of Michonne wandering through the grass near the top of the hill, but she didn't have her katana with her. Daryl was walking behind her, weaponless as well, and he backed away until he was out of sight. Andrea waited, knowing who was coming next, but he didn't appear there. She stood up and shielded her eyes against the brilliant sun to get a better look, but could not see him. The pressure of Amy's hand left her back and when Andrea looked down at her, she saw that her sister's outline had become hazy and transparent. Beside her Dale looked the same and now neither of them smiled with love, but rather with sorrow.

"Y'can't have both, Andrea."

Merle was there in front of her, solid and clear next to Dale's distorted appearance. He reached out to her with his right hand and it was only then that she realized he _had_ a right hand. At the same time, Amy joined Dale and held out her hand to Andrea as well.

_Am I dead?_ Andrea wondered and as if he could read her thoughts Merle laughed, a sound far more different with warmth and genuine joy than she had ever heard come from his throat before.

"Not yet, baby," he told her with that crooked grin. "Not physically, anyway, but you've been ragin' this battle inside've you for quite some time, haven'tcha? This is the decision y'wish y'had—the one Dale took and the one Michonne took. Now's your chance." He turned his palm skyward and Amy waved hers as well.

_My chance, at long last, _my_ decision under _my_ control. I can go now if I want and no one can stop me,_ thought Andrea and it was like a blanket of warmth wrapping around her shoulders at the thought that she actually could stay in this valley with her sister and Dale and never have to return to that life of uncertainty. If she gave up the will to live, she would pass on right beside Merle in that tree overlooking the river and never wake up. She could take Amy's hand and simply let go of everything else…

But how could she do that to Merle? He would sit, waiting for her eyes to open until walkers or the Governor or Daryl found him. All of his efforts to keep Andrea alive, to make her see that he would not give up on her as easily as she had would go to waste if she decided to leave him.

"Time's a'wastin'," said Merle. "If you're gonna decide, y'gotta do it now, sweetheart."

Amy's eyes sparkled with tears that would not fall as Andrea moved towards her, away from Merle. Dale pushed back his cap the better to look at her and though she could see the longing on his face, she was surprised to see him shake his head. He knew in death as he had in life that Andrea needed to go on, to keep trying for as long as she could.

"You'll still be here?" she asked them, hesitating with her fingers just centimeters from Amy's. Both she and Dale nodded and then Andrea stretched her arm out sideways and grasped Merle's hand.

She sat up with a gasp and felt something wrapped around her fingers. Looking down she saw that her fist was closed tightly around Merle's thumb while the rest of his hand enclosed hers. Her eyes slowly made their way up and when they settled on her face she was at a loss for words. Merle had an eyebrow raised inquisitively, but he didn't draw away. Andrea couldn't find it in herself to tell Merle how close she had been to never waking up, but seeing her hand in his made her wonder what she had said or done in her sleep.

"What—what happened?" she asked uncertainly.

"Nothin'," said Merle. "Y'fell asleep for a bit, grabbed my hand, and woke up a few seconds later. And you can let go now, y'know."

"Sorry," said Andrea when she noticed that she had been cutting off his circulation. "Just a nightmare, I guess. I must have—what's wrong?" she asked, for Merle had suddenly tensed at the sight of something coming towards the tree. He pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for her to back up and curl into a ball which she did just so that her head could peek over the side of the branch and she could see what was going on.

Her heart plummeted to the ground while the rest of her remained suspended in the tree at the sight of Tim and Crowley walking towards them arguing. Andrea pulled out her pistol and pressed it to her chest.

"I'm telling you, they wouldn't have come this way," Tim insisted. "Merle and his brother were bleeding all over the place and there's no way that woman could carry them. They're probably laying low closer to the town."

"Well, you can tell the Governor that when you get back, but I'm sticking to my instinct," said Crowley stubbornly. "Merle taught me a thing or two about tracking and I know those footprints we saw were heading this way. They came this far, but as to whether they went upriver or down, I don't know yet. They'll have gone into the shallows to not leave tracks, so I'm going to go feel around for footprints in the mud. You stay here on the high ground and let me know if you see biters."

_Shit_, thought Andrea. She looked to Merle for guidance, asking him without words if he wanted to press their luck and take Tim out while Crowley was occupied, wait for Crowley to return to put them both down, or just sit tight and hope neither of them had the sense to look straight up.

Merle held out his hand. _Wait_, his eyes said. He pointed to where Crowley had gone and then mimed walking with his fingers before pointing at Tim. Then he nodded at Andrea's pistol and gave her the thumb up. _Wait for Crowley to come back and then get rid of them_.

She would have to shoot two men, neither of whom had ever actually done her any harm. These weren't walkers. These were real, living people. _Suck it up_, she told herself firmly. _If they find you, they won't hesitate to kill _you_ even though you aren't a walker. They have orders to bring you back alive for more of Phillip's treatment. Do it or be done._

Exhaling through her nose Andrea prepared her weapon for action.

"Looks like we've got a winner, Tim," called Crowley. One of them headed downriver; I found prints." Seconds later Crowley reappeared, shouldering his rifle and Andrea knew it was time. It had been a while since her last shot, but she knew she could take both of them out, even if she couldn't prevent the noise her gun was about to issue.

"Now," Merle whispered.

Andrea locked her sights on Crowley and let off two rounds, one into his ear and the other through the side of his neck. Before Tim could react she put a cap in his chest.

"Nice shootin'," complimented Merle.

"That was wrong," said Andrea queasily. "Not even face-to-face, I just-,"

"Hey." Merle grabbed her wrist and commanded her gaze with a very serious, no bullshitting expression. "It had t'be done, y'understand? Y'know they'da killed ya if they couldn't take ya back to Woodbury, you—_know —_that. They weren't good men, Andrea, and they weren't innocent neither."

"Are we good, innocent people?" Andrea asked him.

"One've us is," Merle murmured.

Andrea let her legs hang over the branch to stretch out as the two bodies held her attention below. There was no way Crowley would be getting up again, but Tim's corpse might at some point. It was impossible to say when, but Andrea hoped they were the only ones who would come this way. If Shuphert or Gabe arrived, the element of surprise might not work so well this time. She was just beginning to consider the possibility that she could climb down and retrieve the fallen weapons when the first walker appeared.


	22. Chapter 22: Delusional

**MERLE:**

If there was one thing Merle was sure of at this point, it was that the biters were going to give them away. They feasted on Crowley's body and the sound effects were incredibly magnified. For some reason they left Tim alone, or at least appeared to until Merle saw that Tim was actually sitting up and ripping into Crowley's right arm with his teeth—no, _its_ teeth. There were seven biters in all and though they tore through Crowley with the fervor of a mob trying to surge through a doorway to grab the last Christmas turkey, they would be sure to attract attention if they stayed around much longer. Someone was bound to see them and come nosing over to investigate and even if the biters didn't reveal the location, Andrea's gunshots weren't exactly quiet.

"Well, shit," he muttered, tracing his cut lower lip with the tip of his blade attachment. "Looks like we're gonna have to-,"

"I'll go," said Andrea.

Merle was not expecting that and had to do a double take. "Wait—what? Go where?"

"Draw them off," she said, scooting along the branch until half of her rear end was hanging off as she prepared to lower herself to the branch underneath them.

"I don't think so," said Merle, locking his fingers around her wrist. The sudden movement didn't disturb his midsection as much as he feared it would, but he still felt an unpleasant tingle that he didn't want to test. "How y'gonna get back up here once y'get rid've 'em? How y'even _plan_ t'get rid've 'em? One too many if's t'rely on here, and I can't letcha go off alone."

"What are you going to do?" Andrea demanded fiercely. "Are you going to stop me, Merle? I'd love to see you try. Of the two of us, I'm in the better condition, so you're just going to have to sit tight until I get back and I _will_ be back, now let go of me."

Merle felt his eyebrows knit and he had difficulty swallowing. There was too much truth in her words to ignore them, but separating had never exactly helped them out in the past and even if she did manage to ward the biters off, she was too short to climb onto the lowest branch again, which would put her in a very vulnerable position and leave him all alone up a tree with one hand and no way of safely getting down. They were just asking for trouble.

"Now, Merle," said Andrea with a hint of danger in her voice.

"I can't risk that," he told her resolutely.

Andrea leaned over and kissed him, quickly and softly before squeezing a pressure point on his arm, forcing him to release her. He withdrew in slight pain, but by the time he was ready to grab her again she had already begun her descent and was well out of reach. Merle clamped his teeth together, struggling to withhold a long stream of swearwords so that Andrea could get down without attracting attention, but watching her go was almost as bad as hearing the Governor say to her, "You're next," all over again. He touched his forefinger to his lips where she had kissed him and almost laughed like a madman. As she neared the ground Merle found himself wishing that something would happen to prevent her from going through with it, some last minute change of heart or lack of courage.

_Don't do it. Don't you do it, woman._

She crouched on the last branch, preparing for the drop as the biters finished picking through Crowley's remains and then she jumped, landing on her heels and rolling to take the pressure off of her feet. Swiping up a stick the length of her forearm she drew her pistol and began shouting.

"Hey, over here! Come on!"

The biters were slow to notice her but when they did, they were hooked and Merle felt a surge of aching helplessness as he watched Andrea retreat downriver, calling to the biters and waving her arms to herd them away. Merle twisted around, squinting through the leaves to watch her for as long as he could until she was out of sight and all he had to go on was her voice. The biters had left a large, messy puddle of blood behind which made Merle woozy even from this height. All he needed now was to pass out and the word "irony" could be written on his tombstone if he was that lucky.

His pulse quickened and he experienced the first sensation of vertigo he had ever known. The ground swam in dizzying waves below him and he fumbled to grab the trunk with his hand, panting and beginning to panic.

_Breathe_, he instructed himself. _It's unreasonable fear, that's all. She'll be back and you'll get down. Don't look down and just _breathe.

That advice shipped a sail as soon as he heard gunshots in the distance. Disoriented, he couldn't tell from which direction they had come, but his mind insisted that they belonged to the Beretta 92FS. Andrea's gun.

Merle didn't like his chances against the tree, but he didn't like Andrea's chances against those biters more and he shadowed her movements as he edged off the branch and fell the short distance to the next one down. His legs fell on either side of it and he nearly bit his tongue in half to keep from shouting out in pain. Eyes watering, he positioned himself for the next branch while trying not to see the ground or think about the word to keep from plummeting to his death. It was slow going, much slower than he wanted, but haste was one option he did not have and as he shimmied down the trunk a few feet to the limb above the lowest branch he finally allowed himself a look at his ultimate goal.

_Fifteen feet at the most,_ he concluded. _If y'miss, it won't hurt too bad._

He sidled along the branch to find a better jumping spot than Andrea had used because she had had both her hands and the climbing was therefore far easier, but with only one at his disposal, Merle had no chance whatsoever. The vertigo hit him again in full and he swayed in place, seeing objects floating in midair that should have remained stationary as the ground came up to dance on his level. He groped blindly for the branch, but missed, and then he toppled from his perch, falling, falling…

His back hit the water first and the current pushed him under almost immediately. Water rushed up his nose and clogged his lungs. He kicked and fought to break through to the surface, but it was impossible to find it as the river churned and tossed him effortlessly and mercilessly. The water was dark and he couldn't tell how deep it was, but the thought of drowning was enough to send him into an overload of panic and he opened his mouth to shout so that a stream of bubbles shot out of it.

Wait, _bubbles._ Air traveled upward. His mouth and lungs were already fit to burst with river water, but it was his only chance. He tried to yell again and saw the bubbles shoot to the left of his face just as his foot made contact with something solid which gave him a boost so that he broke through to the surface spluttering, gasping, and completely mentally unbalanced. He tried to call out a name, though whose he could not say while he used most of his energy to keep his head above the current. The river had not taken him another twenty feet before something hooked around his middle and hauled him sideways. He had enough sense in him to know that it was an arm clutching him uncomfortably tight as the owner kicked for the shallows, but Merle stopped fighting and let his rescuer haul him up to the bank where he collapsed face-first in the mud, gagging and spitting out a long fountain of water. Two hands turned him over and Merle put up his appendage to shield his eyes against the mid-afternoon sun so that he could get a better look at whoever it was.

He saw a whiskered face, curly brown hair, a pointed nose, and two very familiar eyes. His left hand formed a fist and he punched the man in the jaw, summoning the strength to rise up, throw him onto his side, and start beating him with his one hand until two more sets yanked him off and someone yelled, "Cool it, man! Knock it off, or I'll knock you out!"

Merle recognized that voice as well; the last voice he had heard before the Governor and his men found him almost dead in a pile of overgrown weeds and dirt. He raised his right foot and kicked backward, making contact with that man's chest as he had done before. Discombobulated as he was, he still managed to snap his attachment into place and then made the last-stand of a man surrounded by enemies on all sides, whirling around in nauseating circles pointing his blade at the faces he couldn't quite see as the men hollered at him to put his weapon down and remain calm.

"Merle, you're gonna hurt somebody, now put it down!"

"We want to help you, you idiot!"

"Get back!" Merle yelped in delirium. His vision fogged somewhat and he saw Daryl extend his hand to reassure him but then Daryl's image flickered to be replaced with one of the men's and Merle made a wild lunge.

"Put it _down_, damn it!"

There were men and biters swarming him and he started stabbing with all of his effort until a woman's voice broke through the chaos.

"Merle, it's us!"

"Andrea?" he said imploringly. He fell to one knee, casting his eyes about to locate her vivid blonde-white hair, but instead he saw a darker face, darker eyes, and a sword.

Michonne held up a peaceful hand. "It's me, you dumbass. Remember me?"

"You…" said Merle, lowering his arm ever so slightly as he brought Michonne into focus.

"I went back to the prison for help," Michonne continued, though she still grasped her katana with a cautionary grip just in case. She didn't look relieved to see him, but she was here and she didn't seem likely to hurt him. "I told 'em what happened and we came looking for you and Andrea and your brother. We tried to draw their attention outside the gates, but we couldn't find a way in, so we started hiking back this way to where we parked the car. I saw you take that tumble into the river and someone dove in after you."

"Where's Daryl?" Merle demanded, trying to balance himself.

"We didn't see him, but Rick says it's likely that he-,"

That stirred an angry, painful memory in Merle's mind and he came back up to his feet, whirling around to find that son of a bitch who cuffed him to a rusting pipe and forced him headlong into this shithole of a predicament in the first place when someone rugby tackled him from behind and pinned him to the ground, pushing the more beaten side of his face into the mud.

"Now, Merle, I need you to stay calm," said the voice of Rick Grimes.

"Get off've me!" Merle roared. "Get the hell off, you bastard, you miserable, heartless, no-good piece've shit! You left me there! I nearly died 'cause you _left_ me and I'll kill you for it!"

"Look, man, if you don't shut up, I'mma stuff a rag in your mouth 'cause this is hostile territory and you gotta keep it quiet or you're gonna get us all killed," said T-Dog, kneeling beside Merle and pointing a threatening finger at him.

Merle made a feeble flounder kick that made him look like a fish flopping out of water and Rick tightened his hold on the back of Merle's neck. "The last time this happened things didn't go so well for either of us, Merle, so are you gonna settle down like we asked?"

"Fuck you," Merle spat.

"He's gotta be delusional," guessed Michonne darkly. "I don't know how he got out or where the other two are, but he's suffering from something because he wasn't like this yesterday and this ain't at all like how he's been since I met him."

"No shit, y'seen his face?" said T-Dog. "Looks like he got caught on the wrong end of a championship boxing tournament and came out last." Fingers gently prodded his sides and Merle gave a shameful squeal of discomfort. "And cracked ribs. Broken nose, beat-up face. His knuckles are peelin', his arms are completely discolored, and if money was worth a damn, I'd bet all've mine and say his legs look something similar."

"But what's this tied around him?" asked Rick. "Merle, we're gonna turn you over to look at this, if that's all right. Are we cool or do we have to tie you up?"

"Just you try it, Soldier Boy," cracked Merle.

"Let me try," said Michonne. T-Dog and Rick tilted Merle onto his left side, holding firm so that he could barely squirm and Michonne lifted his tourniquet with a very grim expression.

"He's been cut. Sliced. Somebody did this nice and slow—was it the Governor?" she inquired and Merle raised his head an inch to confirm her speculation. "I knew it. Where's Andrea?"

"Where's Daryl?" Rick added.

Merle twisted his neck so that he could look up into that wretched mug, but it wasn't to give a sarcastic reply. They wanted to know where Daryl and Andrea were? So did he.

"I dunno," he said brokenly.

**Bringin' in the New Year with another chapter, everyone. Have a good one, and hello 2013! One step closer to the pick-up after the mid-season finale of WD.**


	23. Chapter 23: On the Brink

**DARYL:**

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Daryl complained, leaning out of the window edgily.

"Not when there's no road," said Glenn from the driver's seat. "You told me to follow the river and that's what I'm doing. It took you about seven or eight hours to make it as far as you did on foot and I'm doing the best I can making up that time, but you're not helping asking me those sorts of questions back there."

"Well, I don't think y'rightly understood what I meant when I said that my brother could be dyin'," said Daryl with some hostility. "I told 'im I'd bring Hershel back, but since we ain't got the old-timer, we're gonna have t'burn rubber gettin' 'im to the prison."

"You said Andrea looked at the wounds and said they weren't as bad as she thought they would be," Maggie pointed out. "I doubt he'll bleed out. He may have fainted, but that doesn't mean he's close to dying. Lots of people pass out when the pain becomes too much."

"You ain't seen how bad he is," said Daryl shortly. "Worse than me. I tell ya, I was out cold most've the time they were torturin' 'im, so I can't say exactly what they did to 'im, but I'm not willing t'bet stakes on how well he's holdin' up."

It had been hard enough leaving his brother in so much uncertainty while trying to convince himself that Merle would live through the night, but now, hours later, Daryl felt guilty beyond measure and fearful that when he finally returned, Merle might just be dead high up in the tree. Sitting in the back of the car had done it; walking, pushing through the river to reach his destination helped him think of something else, but now with his ass planted on the car seat, he had nothing else to do but worry and dread.

"It'll be fine," said Maggie. "It'll be okay, Daryl."

"He's not going to be happy to see us," Glenn mused aloud. "I'm surprised he never retaliated towards Andrea because she was part of that group, but when he sees Rick and Tee, he's going to pitch a fit."

"If y'all help me get 'im back in one piece, I'm sure he'll just mull the whole thing over," said Daryl without any real conviction, drumming his heels on the floor.

"Now, you said this was a live oak tree?" asked Glenn.

"Yeah, why?" asked Daryl.

"I think I see it up ahead."

Daryl poked his head out the window again and with a leap of terror and liberation in his heart, he commanded Glenn to park the car to hide it from view in case the Governor was staking out around the tree. He swiped up his crossbow from the seat, jumped out of the car, and started to stalk forward with his eyes scanning the scene for any movement. Maggie spotted the trio first: Rick, T-Dog, and Michonne, the last of whom was making upper jumping jack motions to hail them. Daryl took off running, or rather hobbling at a much faster speed than was wise for someone in his condition, but he was so close, he couldn't take any more suspension. Sliding down off the outcrop he landed in the murky bank and saw a body lying on its side between Rick and T-Dog. That was when he really did haul ass to reach them with his heart leaping repeatedly into his throat.

Michonne held out her hands to help him come to a steady stop as he slid forward and nearly collided with her. Before he could even ask, she whispered, "It's okay, he's alive. He's fine—well, no, he's not. Suffering from severe hydration and delirium, but we haven't been able to get a word out of him since after we pulled him from the river."

"What was he doing in the river?" asked Daryl.

Michonne shrugged and stood aside to let him approach his brother, but Rick intercepted him in concern. "Daryl, what did this Governor do to you?"

"You can see for yourself while I talk t'my brother," said Daryl and his tone made it very clear that he wanted Rick to step aside _now_, which he did. Daryl took a knee, set his crossbow down, and shook Merle by the shoulder with the lightest touch he could manage. "Merle?"

His brother opened his eyes bit by bit, but what Daryl saw in them disturbed him. Merle looked—gone. He didn't seem to recognize him at all or even acknowledge his presence and the horrifying thought occurred to Daryl that his brother might have finally snapped.

"Merle." Daryl snapped his fingers in front of Merle's face, but it didn't even faze him. He used the three fingers that had been wrapped in emergency gauze from the back of the car to tap Merle's face with even less result than the snapping. In a last attempt he seized Merle by the shoulders and sat him up, shaking him hard to the point where he thought he might break his brother's neck.

"Will y'fuckin' _answer_ me? Merle!"

Merle blinked and Daryl could almost see the cogs in his brain working again, rotating and climbing back up to speed. He came out of his stupor by opening his mouth to speak so that his cracked lips finally split in started bleeding.

"Damn it, didn't none've you give 'im somethin' t'drink?" asked Daryl.

"We gave him a bit of water, but he threw up nearly all of it and then he just went still," said Rick earnestly.

Daryl noticed that he was kneeling in puked-up water, but at this point he decided that his pants couldn't get anything worse on them and he returned his attention to Merle. He questioned him and discovered that two men had nearly found him and Andrea, that Andrea had run off to draw the resulting walkers away, that Merle had tried to climb down the tree and then fallen into the river only to be rescued by Rick. At that point Rick and T-Dog took over explaining in hushed tones.

"He's screwed up in every way, man," said T-Dog with a shake of his head. "Anger, recollection, insanity, whatever y'wanna call it, he's got it. I think he's suffering a mental break down. Dunno what you three went through, but he got the worst of it."

T-Dog had it right on the money. Daryl didn't realize it until now, but while Andrea was mostly unscathed on the surface and he personally was somewhere between her and Merle, his brother had been suffering long before the Governor even touched him. While they carried Merle the two miles to the river, Andrea had revealed that Merle started to mentally decay upon her arrival and that at the farm he was out on his last limb to search for Daryl. The Governor only helped Merle pull the psychological trigger by threatening to kill Daryl and Andrea and Merle's poor, abused mind just couldn't withstand any more pressure with knowing he would be the cause of Daryl's death, or fearing for his little brother for eleven long months, and admittedly, fearing for Andrea as well. The physical torment on his body pushed him over the edge and sitting alone dozens of feet above the ground so close to Woodbury while anticipating abandonment had been the very last straw that Merle could take. It was absolute insanity that had driven him to attempt that treacherous climb down with only one hand and fight back against his saviors when they pulled him from the river.

Daryl couldn't stand to live with an empty shell, though. If Merle's mind was gone, had all of this been for nothing?

"We've gotta find Andrea," said Michonne to nods of agreement from Glenn and Maggie who had finally joined them.

"We should move him out of here first," said Rick, motioning at Merle. He put his hand on Merle's shoulder and Daryl's brother slapped it away.

"I already toldja once, don't fuckin' touch me," said Merle and Daryl let out an enormous laugh that turned into a sob of joy. If Merle had the rage to deny Rick's help, if he remembered that Rick was the one who had left him atop the roof in Atlanta, he had to still have a stable mind. Perhaps so much emotion and action in such a short time was simply too much for Merle's brain to handle and he hadn't really gone over. He just needed respite.

"Merle, we're gonna go now," said Daryl, offering out his hand for Merle to take. "We'll getcha back t'Hershel and he'll fix you up."

"I ain't leavin' 'til we find her," said Merle stubbornly. "Hell, boy, if I ain't dead yet, nothing's gonna kill me. She said she'd come back and I'm obliged t'wait right here until she does."

"But Merle, how long ago was that?" asked Glenn reasonably.

Noticing him for the first time, Merle's scowl deepened. "Think y'know her, huh? Ain't seen her for quite a while, haven'tcha? People change when they're on their own and I speak from direct experience. She ain't the same as she was in Atlanta and I think I know a bit more about her than any've you up t'this point. Which one've you assholes took this for her?" He pointed furiously at his bloody stomach. "In moments of desperation, people show ya who they truly are and that's how she came t'me. I _know_ that woman and she'll come back, y'can be damn sure she will."

Daryl didn't think he had ever heard Merle say so much without going into a rage, but the way he talked about Andrea and the confidence he held for her made Daryl grasp the fact that his brother had made a little bit of room in that shriveled organ he called his heart. It wasn't love; Merle didn't know how to love, of this Daryl was convinced, but Merle cared about Andrea more than he had both of their parents and that was enough to stir up a realm of previously unknown emotions within him.

"You said you heard gunshots and that's why you climbed down?" asked Maggie and Merle rounded on her somewhat curiously.

"Who're you?"

"I'm—"

Rick gave a shout as a bullet struck him through the shoulder and he went to his knees while the rest of them dropped down and pulled out their weapons. Michonne hurried over to Rick as Glenn and Maggie covered them and went to the side of the bank to look out at their attacker. T-Dog had two pistols on him, one of which he handed rather reluctantly to Merle.

"Who shot at us?" Daryl asked his brother, pressing himself against the slippery bank wall.

"Gabe," Merle growled. "Sonna bitch's a damn good shot with a rifle. S'pose it's just dumb luck that the bullet didn't go through Soldier Boy's head."

"What do we do?" asked Michonne. "Our car's downstream, yours is upstream, both outta reach if we're pinned down here."

"Can someone sneak around from behind and draw their attention?" asked Rick, wincing as Michonne helped to tie off his wound.

"I can," Michonne offered. "I'm quick and quiet."

"But you don't have a gun," T-Dog pointed out.

"So give me one."

"D'you know how to use it?"

"If it's a pistol, yeah."

Daryl knew close to nothing about this woman, but he admired her courage. He wished her luck as T-Dog surrendered his other pistol and took up Dale's old rifle. Michonne bent low and set off upriver. Within moments she was swallowed by the bend which meant the rest of them were inclined to wait until she exposed the Governor and his men through gunfire.

Merle nestled himself into a good leaning-standing position and checked his clip. His face was set, dangerous and ready for an end to all this hiding and evading. He, like Daryl, was ready to put the Governor on the other side of the gun which meant that for the time being, at least, his mind was still intact.


	24. Chapter 24: With Water and Blood

**MERLE:**

The first shot came from a rifle and the second was lost in an onslaught of gunfire. Merle raised himself up just far enough to peer over the river wall but as soon as he saw what was happening before him, he figured he might have been a lot happier in complete obliviousness. The Governor had six men with him, armed to the teeth with half shooting at something behind them and half pressing forward with vigilance to ambush the riverbed crew. If those men got close enough, there would be no way to escape right or left.

"We gotta move now," said Merle over the sounds of raining bullets. "They're comin' straight for us!"

"Tee, you, Glenn and Maggie head right and we'll go left," Rick instructed. "Do whatever you need to do to take them out but keep an eye open for us."

_Oh, sure, send the walkin' wounded all in one direction._

Rick led the way because he had the automatic and Daryl brought up the rear which meant that Merle was stuck in the middle making sure that he didn't tread on the back of Rick's heels or go so slow as to cause Daryl to trip on his. They went faster than Merle's stomach liked and within minutes he thought he was going to vomit all over the back of Rick's shirt. He didn't mind doing it, but thought that it would either slow them up or reveal their location because at the moment they were practically silent as they moved away from the live oak.

Daryl tugged on the back of Merle's wife beater and motioned for him to duck down lower and stop. Merle prodded Rick's back with the tip of his blade and relayed the message and the three of them listened as the gunfire ceased. His very optimistic hope was that Michonne had single handedly taken out the Governor and all of his men, but Merle knew that was way too fantastical to have a chance of happening. Sure enough, he heard Gabe's voice calling out the obvious.

"They're gone."

"Thank you for that observation, you idiot," said the Governor. "Damn you, Warren, I thought you said you could pin anyone through the head with that thing?"

"He wasn't even on level ground, but he was the only one I saw, so I took the best shot I could," said Warren defensively. "Never seen him before, but I assume he's with Merle."

"Did you _see _Merle?" asked the Governor. "Did anyone see Merle or his brother or that blonde bitch? No, I didn't think so. We could be pursuing someone completely different who doesn't even know our trio, which would mean that we are wasting time and ammunition on people who don't matter. And we've lost one man already—did someone put a cap in his head?"

"He was already shot through the head," said Warren. "Whoever was behind us had good aim. But Henry had kids—what do we tell them?"

"Same story that we always tell," said the Governor in a bored voice. "He died a hero, killed by Merle and the others. The same goes for Milton; Merle stole a gun and shot him through the head after using him as a hostage."

Merle felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had called it, but he had hoped to not be right. Milton fed the Governor his story and the Governor did not buy it in the least which resulted in Milton's murder. The Governor knew he had helped Merle, Daryl, and Andrea escape. Along with a silent apology to Milton, Merle made a mental note to never tell Andrea if he ever saw her again.

_Stop thinkin' like that or you'll screw yourself._

"But Milton said Merle _did_ use him as a hostage-," another voice began that Merle didn't recognize.

"How?" the Governor demanded, clearly impatient at his companions' stupidity. "Why was Milton anywhere near that bunker when he should have been in the lab after I sent him there? Why were Merle's blade and the other two's weapons missing? What reason could Milton have had for going into the bunker? To check on the prisoners when he already knew that they were perfectly secure? No, he helped them escape and then something went down and they left him behind or he asked to be left."

"So you shot him?" asked that same voice.

Merle heard the unmistakable click of a gun and suspected that the inquirer now had a pistol pointed directly at his nose.

"Merle shot him when he and the others escaped," said the Governor treacherously. "Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, that's about it," the voice confirmed.

Someone nudged Merle in the back and he thought it was Rick, but when he turned to address him, Rick was looking at someone behind him. A smooth, warm hand closed over Merle's mouth and he heard her speak.

"It's me. I got held up."

Andrea removed her hand and Merle twisted around to glare at her. "Y'said you'd be _right back_," he said in a harsh whisper. "What does _right back_ mean t'you, six hours?"

"I couldn't shake the walkers," she explained apologetically. "One got too close and I had to shoot, but that alerted another three to my location and I had to keep running. I led them back to Woodbury."

"Y'went back t'_Woodbury_?" Merle snarled in fury. "Woman, I thought you were a gonner. I climbed down soon as I heard that first shot-,"

"How'd you get down on your own?" Andrea marveled.

"I fell, genius."

"Straight into the river and nearly drowned," Rick added. "Michonne pointed him out."

"She made it?" said Andrea thankfully.

"We'll explain it all later. For now, we need to sneak as far upriver as we can go to put some distance between us and them and then we'll double back for the car. The others will head towards-,"

"Shh!" said Daryl urgently.

Merle glanced up and saw the man launch himself down into the riverbed. Only his instinct saved him as he stuck out his blade arm and skewered the man like a cabob so that only dead weight landed on top of him, but within moments, open gunfire raked the air as the Governor's men found Merle's group. The man's body shielded Merle as someone came to the edge and fired at him; Merle felt the bullets' impact even if he didn't feel the pain but seconds later Rick took the shooter out with a well-placed shot to his throat. He wriggled his left hand out from underneath the corpse sitting on top of him and fired off two blind shots above him where he heard enemy gunfire come from.

Pandemonium broke out. He was the most exposed of them all and pushing the body off of him would reveal him, but staying put couldn't be helping his group's efforts. No one else from the Governor's hunting party dared to come close to the edge since they seemed to be occupied with something behind them which was either Michonne or T-Dog and the others.

"Merle, move your ass outta there!" Daryl bellowed.

_Move, yeah right_

But he tried anyway. He kept the man's body over him and used his heels as claws, inching towards Daryl at a snail's pace, but making progress nonetheless. He only hoped that his shield wouldn't come back to life and try to take a bite out of his face while he was making a break for cover and for once, luck was with him as after several tense moments he reached the safety of the overhang and kicked the body off of him, stabbing the brain with his blade.

"Now what?" he asked Daryl.

"Andrea!" Daryl cried, pointing.

She was completely exposed in classic shooter's stance firing at the men above Merle and Daryl but despite Merle's infuriated shouts, she didn't seek cover. Merle had never seen her look so calm or (he thought wildly) more attractive than she did in that moment with her wavy white-blonde hair falling out of her ponytail and sticking to her sweaty, bruised face while the rest of her was covered in a thick layer of mud, dust, and blood. Then an opponent came out of nowhere and flattened her as he soared off the higher ground. Andrea shot at him, but she missed by a good two feet. Merle attempted to stand, but Michonne got to Andrea first and beheaded the man with a quick swipe from her katana. The blood spashed out from the neck, dousing Andrea's shirt in red from the shoulders down. Michonne had rolled the man's body off of Andrea and pulled her friend up by the wrist when the bullet took out the back of her skull.

"_NO!_" Andrea shrieked, catching Michonne as her lifeless body crumpled and the sword fell from her hands. She stood unarmed, sobbing and screaming while the battle raged on around her.

A terrible icy rush made Merle's insides shrivel at the sight of Michonne, but he couldn't spare any remorse for her now, not when Andrea was likely to get shot at any moment. By a streak of incredibly rotten luck, the Governor's remaining force decided that they would stand a better chance down in the ditch than atop the bank where another unseen enemy fired at their backs and so they jumped in. There were four left: Gabe, Shupert, a man Merle didn't know, and the bastard himself. Daryl pulled out his knife, dropped his crossbow, and met Gabe head-on while on Merle's other side Rick let off his last round into the unknown man and charged the Governor. Both of them went down in the water in an enormous splash.

Shupert saw Andrea and his massive form straightened up in preparation. Merle thought he was going to use the rifle slung across his shoulder, but he heard a gunshot and Shupert hadn't even reached for the rifle. Confused, Merle looked for Andrea and an iron fist closed agonizingly tight around his heart at the sight of her dropping to her knees and going down with her arms still around Michonne. Merle didn't know what had happened or how, but the irrevocable hatred within him spewed and his self-control finally severed in two. He threw himself at Shupert's back and stuck him through the spine with his blade. Shupert exhaled sharply on impact, but Merle yanked the attachment out and punched it back in at a different angle, screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs until the big man's back was a mess of chopped flesh and spurting blood.

"Andrea," he called hoarsely, coming off of his knees that were drenched through with all manner of disgusting liquids. "_Andrea_!"

With absolutely no warning whatsoever, Merle went down, trampled by something that hit him hard from behind. An arm closed across his throat, gagging him. He tried to use his blade, but it was too long and too awkward to stab backwards with and so he writhed around, rolling like a crocodile to throw his opponent off balance. It was getting harder to breathe with every passing second and despite his best efforts to focus, he could think of nothing to shake the man off of him.

_The knife! _he thought madly. He had never had the chance to give it to Andrea like she told him to back in the bunker before Milton came for them. Merle plunged his hand into his pocket, found Martinez's pocket knife and clicked it open. He positioned it accordingly in his hand and drove it back into his foe's thigh. The Governor let out a yelp and his grip across Merle's throat slackened. Merle only managed to sit up a few inches before the Governor's fist collided with his bullet wound and then the other pounded mercilessly into his ribs, finally breaking one. He felt the small but lethal little knife blade slide through his side and would have gasped, had he any breath left to spare.

He nearly blacked out from the pain right there, but then the Governor's forearm closed over his Adam's apple and he gagged. His eyes crossed as the world went dark in front of him…

"You slippery, back-stabbing little fuck," the Governor hissed into his ear.

Then miraculously, incredibly, he let go, screaming. Merle choked and keeled over. He blinked up into the sunlight and saw the Governor wrestling upright with someone clinging to his face from behind, riding him piggy-back style. The position of the sun made it impossible to see his savior's face, but Merle could tell just by the ponytail whipping around as the Governor tried to buck his rider like a bull. Andrea clung to the Governor's face, digging her fingernails into his cheeks and holding on for all she was worth. He was standing and he still had Merle's knife in his hands which he was trying to stab Andrea with.

Merle straightened out and thrust his blade through the Governor's shin so that both he and Andrea went down at the edge of the water.

"Merle!"

Twisting around, Merle spotted Daryl in the shallows holding up his own knife which he chucked at Merle. The knife landed in the dirt with the blade closest to Merle and he snatched it up in his palm before shoving it into Andrea's ready hand. She buried the entire length of it in the Governor's forehead. His body gave a shudder and then he went still.


	25. Chapter 25: Bumps in the Road

**ANDREA:**

It took her a minute or two to squeeze out from underneath the Governor's motionless body, but eventually Andrea was able to crawl free and only then did the pain really hit her for the first time since Shupert shot her. It wasn't just luck that saved her; no one as good of a shot as Shupert could _just miss_ her at such a close range with a handgun. Someone was looking out for her and it wasn't only Merle, though he played a major role in that area. There was no way she could have quite literally dodged a bullet twice if he hadn't gone full Dixon on Shupert after that first shot. The hole was just a flesh wound in her hip, nothing Hershel couldn't fix up, but Merle needed the older man's attention more than she did.

"You…" Merle spat at her. His clothes were completely red and brown so that she couldn't tell what color they had been before they were introduced to the mud and blood of the day. She saw an additional wound in his side.

"Stop moving," she told him strictly. "Stay still or you'll make everything worse."

"Can't make anything worse after all've this," said Merle, motioning at the carnage around them. Andrea pulled up the side of his ripped wife beater to examine the new wound and happened to glance over at Michonne. She found it difficult to swallow and choked back a sob as she applied some pressure to the cut in Merle's ribs.

"Ow!" he shouted.

"Oh, shut up," said Andrea, her voice breaking. "Of everything that's happened to you, this is the least serious."

He tried to stand up and she whacked him across the face with her fist. "I said to stay still, damn it, so you'd better fucking stay still!"

Her words worked magic on him, but not because her tone was threatening. Merle reached up and put his palm to her cheek for a second before his arm fell and he started to twitch. Andrea held his shoulders steady as she called out to someone, anyone.

"Help! Somebody help him!"

Daryl and Rick reached her at the same time that T-Dog's group came to the ledge.

"Glenn, Maggie, go get your car and bring it as far towards us as you can. Tee, you, Daryl and I are gonna lift him outta this riverbed and then we'll get him back to the prison as fast as we can. Once you get there, someone run on ahead and tell Hershel that you're comin'. The rest've us will follow in the other car."

Despite his injury, Rick secured a firm hold under Merle as he and Daryl lifted Merle straight up to where T-Dog was reaching for him. Andrea watched with her mouth hanging open and afterwards felt incredibly stupid for not doing more, but there was little to be done. She scavenged a few weapons from the fallen enemies and started to make her way back to the outcrop to pass them up to Daryl who had just climbed out of the bank when she remembered Michonne. Glancing back, she saw that her friend's sword was still close to her hand. Andrea could never learn to wield the weapon herself, but she couldn't just leave it there for someone from Woodbury to find. She couldn't leave Michonne to be found either.

She knew that all of her movement could not be good for her bullet wound, but she would never be able to live with herself if she abandoned Michonne when her friend had risked everything including her life to come to Andrea's rescue twice. Andrea owed her a proper burial at least.

There was no danger of Michonne coming back as a walker; the stray bullet had made sure of that, but that did not make her any easier for Andrea to lift, especially with the wound in her side. She took a firm hold of both of Michonne's arms and dragged her about ten feet before her body protested and she had to let go, clutching at her wound and biting back the building pain. T-Dog appeared in front of her and slung Michonne quite easily over his shoulder before offering up his hand to Andrea.

"C'mon," he said. "You're riding with Merle. I'll see that she gets back okay."

_Okay? _thought Andrea incredulously. _Is that some kind of joke?_

Maggie was opening the back doors of the car so that the men could try to figure out how to squish Merle inside without actually squishing him and still have room for Andrea and Daryl. Thankfully, Maggie volunteered to stay behind so that Daryl could sit shotgun and Andrea could hold Merle's head in her lap to keep it from bouncing around too much in the back. At this point Andrea didn't care where she got blood as she slid into her seat and felt hot red ooze from her wound smear across the leather material. She rested Merle's head on her thigh and only just then realized how much worse he looked—if that was even possible—since she had left him to draw the walkers off, but then again, he _had_ fallen out of the tree and into the river and also had a brutal wrestling match with the Governor. How his face looked now was the least of anyone's worries.

Rick lifted Merle's legs and pushed them up tight to his chest to make them fit and then slammed the door before they could pop out again. He pounded on the roof of the car. "Okay, Glenn, nice and easy but fast as you can. We'll be about a half hour behind you. Keep an eye out, okay?"

"Sure thing, Rick," said Glenn. Of the three of them conscious in the car, he looked the least nervous. He backed up the car, pulling it around to face west and then with a slow build up, started to gain as much speed as he could sustain on the bumpy trail. Andrea closed her eyes in the back seat, afraid that she was going to puke all over Merle's face. She was secretly glad that he had passed out by now because she knew that this insane car ride would have made him throw up all the river water he had swallowed. When Glenn hit a large hole and the car bounced recklessly over it, Andrea sailed straight up and knocked her forehead against the top of the roof. Eyes watering, she cursed at him and hissed, "Can you please try to watch where you're driving, Andretti?"

"Sorry, sorry," Glenn muttered. "The light's fading out and it's getting harder to see what I'm driving over."

"I got an idea," said Daryl. "Switch me. I'll drive so that you can jump out, unlock the gate and go tell Hershel that we're comin'."

"I don't want to stop with night setting in," said Glenn nervously.

"I'll knock you out and take the wheel anyway," Daryl warned and Glenn nearly slammed on the brakes. As the two were switching places, Andrea heard the dead moaning from all sides. Daryl only just managed to slip into the driver's seat and shut the door before a walker pressed itself against the window, clawing and trying to break in.

"It's okay," said Glenn, glancing at Andrea in the rear-view mirror. "Walker activity is already thick around the prison, but they've always been more active at night. We're almost there."

Right on cue, Merle jerked awake and skewered the seatback with his blade. Andrea nestled her hand on his arm and tried to calm him. "You're okay," she said softly. "We're going to get you some help."

"There was a door," said Merle, his words slurred. "And a light…bright—bright light…tried t'walk…"

"What the hell's he talkin' about?" asked Daryl nervously, sparing a moment to turn in his seat and flicker his eyes towards Merle.

"Has to be a dream," Andrea guessed. She didn't want to say aloud what she suspected his dream to mean. A door with a light? The light that those who are dying see just before they pass on? If Merle was seeing that light, had come so close to walking through that doorway, they were running very short on time. How could he be hurt that bad? Or were all of his wounds collectively causing him to venture into death's realm?

"Daryl, please go faster," she murmured and Daryl obliged.

"That's it right there," exclaimed Glenn a few seconds later, pointing. In the dark, Andrea could hardly see the prison for what it was even with the headlights on bright, not that she tried very hard. She could care less about the prison's appearance.

"Honk the horn," she said as they neared the gate and as Daryl gave a few short blasts, the gate slid open, aided by someone Andrea couldn't quite see. It could have been Beth. Daryl brought the car right up to the main building still honking insistently and Glenn jumped out, nearly face-planting as he stumbled towards a caged door and disappearing through. Moments later he returned with Carl who, Andrea, saw, looked like a mini version of Rick just with longer hair.

"Hershel and Lori are setting up inside, so we'll have to move him," Glenn explained. "Carl will help in place of Andrea-,"

"I'm going to help," said Andrea strictly. "Carl can still lend a hand, but I'm perfectly capable of helping to lift."

"Fine, just hurry!"

Andrea gently pushed on Merle's shoulders as he continued to blab on about the light through the darkened doorway and Daryl, Glenn, and Carl lifted him as gently as they could out through the side door. Holding her side, Andrea hurried around to help them and the four of them awkwardly made their way inside with Carl kicking open doors with his heels until they arrived in a large cell block dimly lit by lanterns. A gurney which actually looked more like a food cart was set up and Hershel stood nearby on crutches with Lori acting as nurse as they set Merle down on top of the cart. Merle didn't help matters by trying to sit up to take in his surroundings and starting to shout as soon as Hershel attempted to check his wounds.

"Touch me again, old man, and I'll knock your blinkin' lights out, I ain't bullshittin'!"

"Hold him down!" said Daryl. "Merle, stop fightin' and stay still!"

Glenn and Carl held down Merle's left side with Hershel standing between them and Andrea took the right with Daryl. It didn't take all four of them to match his dwindling strength, but they did have to work hard to hold him absolutely still as Hershel set to work testing for broken bones, feeling, and poking. Merle called him a long list of foul names and Andrea wished she could slam a pot over his head to put him under again when suddenly Carl let go, ran over to Hershel's bag, and came back with a bottle labeled _Chloroform._

"Guards might have used this on unruly prisoners," he said.

"That's not moral," said Lori slightly disapprovingly, but Hershel said, "It's just like anesthesia," and dumped a good portion onto a cloth, holding it over Merle's mouth and nose. Merle struggled, his eyes going wide briefly before they rolled into the back of his head and his head clattered onto the cart.

"Thank God," said Glenn under his breath.

Hershel singled out Andrea. "You look second worst in comparison to him, so you'll be next. Daryl can wait longer, but I need both of you to go find a cell and camp out until I'm finished here. I don't need your help; I've got Lori and Beth once Carl takes over for her and the others will be back soon. You two get some rest, get some food and water in you, and take it easy until I can see you. You'll only be in my way and there are some things I've gotta do that won't be pretty."

Andrea began to protest, but Daryl cut her off and steered her towards the staircase leading to the top row of cells. He didn't let go of her arms until he had successfully managed to place her on the bottom bunk in the cell furthest from the stairs. "Stay put," he commanded and whisked out the door, only to reappear with some medical supplies and a can of fruit. He dabbed at a cut over her eyebrow while she clumsily fed herself the fruit. It was sticky and it made a mess, but it tasted wonderful after two days of nothing. Sitting on a fairly soft mattress in a secured prison cell block with Daryl at her side tending to her smaller cuts was almost bliss.

But her thoughts never strayed from Merle on the floor below, lingering on the brink of the beyond.

**Sorry for the delay everyone. I've had some things going on and no motivation to write because of them, if you know what I mean.**


	26. Chapter 26: Here and Now

**DARYL:**

He would be lying if he said that Merle's state didn't concern him. Once, when he came back from juvie, Merle had passed out dead-drunk on the couch for four days, which Daryl didn't worry about in the least because that meant he could play basketball to his heart's content without his brother interfering. When Merle woke up he gave Daryl a few dollars to go and buy groceries and when Daryl returned home, he was gone. This was normal behavior and it never bothered him, but now, when Daryl most wanted Merle to wake up, his brother was being a stubborn jackass. Hershel insisted that Merle was just trying to recuperate after the toll the physical pain took on his body throughout the course of two days, but the old man didn't have the faintest idea how damaged Merle was mentally and emotionally after the ordeal.

Andrea revealed everything that had happened during Daryl's absence and also the extreme measures Merle had gone to in order to keep the Governor's men off of Daryl as he lay unconscious on the floor of the torture bunker. More often than not Daryl had been as helpless as he was at age six and he had come home with a cut lip and broken wrist after being beat up by the kids who hung around the back alley behind the school. Sniffling and wincing, he expected to find his mom in the living room smoking, watching her favorite soap opera. She might not have been much of a mother, but she would have bandaged him up at least and maybe, if she was feeling extremely generous, taken him to the ER. But she wasn't home; instead Merle had been there to greet him and wrap his wrist in an old t-shirt while telling him to toughen up. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that Daryl learned fairly quickly, not that it did him any good back at Woodbury. He had spent the majority of the time passed out or incapacitated which left Merle and Andrea to protect his worthless body.

_Some help you are, jackass_, he reprimanded himself, but then the voice of reason that Merle never managed to flush out of him pointed out, _But you carried 'im outta Woodbury and got 'im up in that tree. Y'went back t'the prison for help. _That was certainly true, but they all could have walked back to the prison together, maybe even changed Michonne's fate if Daryl had been conscious to take care of himself instead of dumping the responsibility on Merle's shoulders. _Now, look here, y'idjit, you go blamin' y'self for every little thing that happens t'him from here on out and you're gonna have a serious mental problem. He knew what he was doin' and he did it willingly without you askin' 'im to. Damned if he don't at least give a shit about you after all, t'go through everything he did just so that they'd kill you last._

Kill him last. At what point had Merle realized that there was no escape for them this time, but still resigned himself to defending his little brother with his dying breath just to give Daryl a few more precious moments of life? Where had that act of selflessness come from in self-absorbed, careless, indifferent Merle?

_Well now, that one's obvious: Andrea. Looks like Merle's hots for her never died out. Only those hots turned into real, no-bullshittin' feelings. Go figure._

But it all made sense, if he actually thought about it. Merle was an alpha male and Andrea was an alpha female. They balanced each other out nicely because she challenged him and used validity which went way over his head and he brought Andrea's puffed up head down to earth once in a while. Did that mean Daryl felt like a third wheel? Absolutely not. If anything, he felt like a double set of wheels in place behind the forefront ones, acting as the support and the guiding link to connect his brother's life and Andrea's.

If Merle ever woke up, he and Andrea would take their relationship further and Daryl was perfectly content with watching it happen so long as his brother didn't go ape-shit on Rick, T-Dog, and the others. Even if Rick had saved his life, Merle was ungrateful and he held onto grudges far longer than was healthy which was how he landed himself chained to the rooftop in the first place. That fault was entirely his own and not Rick's, but Daryl would never say that out loud where Merle could hear him.

It was a difficult thing, sitting by Merle's sickbed and trying to force feed him broth or water, but if that's what it took to bring him back around, Daryl would do it. He only let Andrea take over occasionally because if Merle woke up, he didn't want his brother freaking out on someone else and hurting himself out of anger or panic. Hershel had set his ribs, two of which were broken and the rest of which were severely cracked on one side. His face was not the work of surgical reconstruction, but given time, it would look almost like normal. The bullet wound in his shoulder was the least serious injury and would heal the quickest provided that he left it alone and didn't pick or prod at it as was his tendency.

Daryl's wounds were on the mend, but he hadn't had any sunlight since Merle was brought in which certainly wasn't contributing to his health. Even at Hershel's insistence, he and Andrea refused to go far from Merle's sickbed. The two of them even shared nightshifts but as the days wore on, it became more and more frequent for one of them to pass out in the chair beside Merle's bed and be awakened by the other sometime later.

For Daryl, it was now sometime later yet again, though he woke up on his own to find himself with his head planted on Merle's legs, having keeled forward in his chair at some point so that his arms, now asleep and floppy, hung uselessly over the floor. Sitting up with a sliver of drool coming out of his mouth, he stretched and rubbed the back of his neck to massage out the soreness. He reached over to feel Merle's forehead but jumped back in alarm at the sight of his brother's eyes glaring at him. For a split second he wondered if he could be dreaming, but when Merle smacked his hand away and made some unintelligible sound in his throat, Daryl dismissed the possibility.

"Water," said Merle, his voice sounding like a dying cricket.

Daryl nearly tripped over his chair in his haste to grab a water bottle from the rickety bedside table. He spilt a small puddle on Merle's chest and if his brother had been in any position to do so, he probably would have hit Daryl so hard in the face that his head spun around to sit backwards atop his neck, but as it was, Merle could barely hold the water bottle himself.

"Calm—the—hell—_down_—boy," he said raspily as he took a small sip and let the water wash over his parched lips. When he had drunk his fill, he set his head back, visibly exhausted. Staring up at the bunk above him, he asked, "How'm I doin'?"

"Hershel took care've everything," Daryl assured him. "We didn't know if you were gonna make it, though. You've been out of it for—days."

"And you've been sittin' there the whole time?" Merle guessed, scanning Daryl up and down. "Y'look like shit."

Daryl scowled. "Well you ain't exactly a pretty pixie y'self," he retorted.

"Where is she?"

Of course, there could only be one person "she" could refer to, but Daryl was still groggy and a little slow as he asked, "Who?" which earned him a roll of Merle's eyes.

"I wanna talk t'her. Go get—ow!"

Merle clapped a hand to his ribs as he tried to sit up and Daryl shushed him on the spot. "Keep your voice down, y'idiot, or you'll scare everyone half t'death! They're all sleepin', but I'm gonna go get Hershel. Stay here and I'll-," He cut off, thinking of how stupid that had just sounded and praying that Merle hadn't noticed, but no such luck was with him.

"Naw, I thought I'd get up and do a few jumpin' jacks, maybe run some laps 'round the prison, y'dumbass."

Daryl collided with Andrea just outside the cell and they both latched on to each others' forearms to steady themselves. Nodding his head at Merle, Daryl silently told her that his brother had finally woken up and she slipped into the cell, taking his formerly occupied seat. Through the bars Daryl saw his brother's expression soften just slightly at her presence.

"It's about time you woke the hell up," said Andrea in an almost reprimanding tone.

"I'd like t'know how this is _my_ fault?" said Merle.

Daryl left them to it but returned a few minutes later with Hershel hobbling along on his crutches and Rick accompanying him. At first Daryl had protested Rick's involvement because the sight of his face was not likely to improve Merle's mood at this hour after having just woken up from a coma, but Rick insisted that he lay down the rules for Merle while he was still unable to strangle anyone. That plan shipped a sail the moment Rick stepped appeared in the doorway because Merle tried to make a go for him and Andrea pushed him back down, only to have him swear in pain.

"You move that suddenly again and you're looking an additional six months of lying in that bed along with the two months you already need to heal," said Hershel serenely. "I don't care if I have to smash a brick over your head to knock you out, son, you need to be still."

Perhaps the shock of being called son by the crippled man was too overwhelming for Merle to find a proper comeback or maybe he was actually heeding Hershel's advice but either way he stopped moving and Rick precariously entered the cell.

"Back from the dead," he said in an attempt at light conversation.

Merle held up two fingers and then let his forefinger drop to give Rick the bird. "That's twice, y'little son've a-,"

"Merle," said Andrea sharply.

"Look, I know there's no love lost between us," said Rick, squatting down on Merle's level but staying wisely out of his reach. "I as good as maimed you, I'll admit that, but I also fished you out of the river when you were drowning, so I don't owe you anything. You can call me what you want to my face and hold a grudge until the day you die, I don't care. What I do care about is what you plan to do once you're mobile again. Whether you stay here on move on, it makes no difference to me. I only ask that if you do leave, you do it without causing a scene. Leave us how you found us. If you stay, you've gotta earn it."

"Bullshit," said Merle, wincing while Hershel checked his bandages and tested his ribs. "If gettin' kidnapped and tortured by psychopathic mercenaries, sneakin' out've a heavily guarded facility, climbing _and_ fallin' from a tree into a river, nearly drownin', fightin' same said psychopathic mercenaries, all the while sufferin' from a bullet wound, a stab wound, a mutilated face, broken ribs, and any number've cuts and bruises and then goin' into a coma ain't enough t'qualify me already for earnin' my spot here, I say fuck you and I'll be on my way."

"Just shut up," said Daryl. "You know damn well you can't get anywhere in your condition, so even if y'haven't earned your right t'be here yet, y'still have t'stay 'til Hershel says you're good t'go. It'll make everyone's lives a hell've a lot easier if y'just hung up the pride and listened t'someone for a change."

Merle had never looked so sober.

Hershel and Rick returned to their respective cells shortly after, leaving Daryl and Andrea to console with Merle who had a very dark expression on his banged up features. He looked from Andrea to Daryl and spoke mainly to him as he said, "Hope y'realize I ain't plannin' on stayin' here."

That was what Daryl was afraid of.

**Good-grief. Rough start to 2013, y'all. Death, broken limbs, stress, college…I won't go into details, but it's been hard for me to actually sit down and get anywhere with this story, so I'm sorry and I appreciate all of you who have waited, reviewed, and waited some more. Thanks!**


	27. Chapter 27: Summer's End

**MERLE:**

Life sucked. There was a guard outside his cell door at all hours of the day, but it was never Daryl or Andrea who spent the majority of their time inside the cell on the bunk above or in the chair beside him. Rick trusted Merle even less while he was recovering than he did when Merle was fully capable of stuffing the officer's enlarged head up his ass. What, did he think Merle was going to go out into the yard, open up the gates, and let all the biters stream in to seek his vengeance? Just what good would that do when Merle had no way of escaping himself? His attachment had been taken and stored somewhere by Glenn so that Merle would have to ask for it if he wanted to leave which meant that sneaking out quietly while everyone was asleep was out of the question. His babysitters also prevented him from pinching food and water or smuggling weapons into his cell at odd hours.

_Assholes_, he thought to himself every time one of them poked their head in to locate him on his bunk with his body in more bandages than he could shake a stick at—not that he could even pick up a stick with his fractured, bruised, and cut knuckles. When he wasn't wondering how long all of his added up injuries would take to finally heal, he was trying to count them individually, but every time he got the numbers mixed up, had to start over, and just gave up in the end. Luckily there was a toilet not too far from the bunk, but unfortunately, he had one hell of a time trying to get up and over there on his own, so he held his water for as long as he could possibly stand before sending Andrea out so that Daryl could help him make the long, treacherous six foot journey. He didn't mind if Daryl stayed nearby if he had to piss, but if he had to empty his bowels, he made his brother go stand on watch for however long it took.

Neither Daryl nor Andrea had much to say as the three of them spent endless hours sitting in relative silence, brooding over the horrendous ordeals they had been through together. Merle felt disjointed and cut off from the two of them not only because they were free to leave the cell at their leisure and explore other parts of the prison, but also because they resumed their friendship after nine months apart as if they had never been separated, which was more than Merle could say of his relationship with his brother. He resented the two of them for being able to pick up exactly where they left off without any discrepancies while he was still struggling to work out things between himself and both of them individually. It was true enough that everyone in the prison including Daryl knew that Merle had gone through hell and back for the woman he had originally deemed a rug muncher. No one knew anything of what happened between them inside the walls of Woodbury: of the bed they shared, the inner struggles they faced, the mutual trust they gained, and the two kisses they stole. It had cost Andrea the friend who selflessly rescued and provided for her and nearly her own life, but she chose Merle and now she seemed almost at peace with that. Merle did not get the doctor's note from Hershel to attend Michonne's funeral in the yard, but when Andrea returned late that night from the grave, he made as much room for her on his bunk as he could so that she could lie down beside him. Rick was not too enthusiastic about discovering this first thing in the morning, but the death glare Merle gave him dared him to say something.

Andrea communicated her emotions through her delicate actions such as the way she would gently stroke her thumb over his hand before she climbed up onto the bunk above for the night or the reassuring look on her face as she shook him from his nightmares which occurred almost on a nightly basis. Waterfalls of blood cascaded down over his head, drowning him in never-ending red until something sharp grabbed the hair closest to his forehead and yanked him straight backwards, slamming him onto the ground and pinning him in place as someone slit a knife through his midsection. He would fend off his attackers, stand up, and begin to run when explosions would erupt around him, burning his skin and sending jagged objects at him which cut him and opened new wounds. Then he would fall from a terrible height, plummeting head first towards an unseen surface and somehow this would always be when Andrea shouted out his name and jerked him from the horrific scenes. He saw her silhouette by moonlight and then Daryl from the mattress on the floor switched on a flashlight and shined it between them so that Andrea's face was illuminated. She would hold his face and press a dampened cloth to his forehead as he lay panting in icy sweat, his one and only wife beater slick with perspiration, sticking to the mattress. Sometime later sleep finally found him again, only to be disrupted by another of his own nightmares or an episode from Andrea or Daryl. If it was Andrea, Merle had to search for Daryl's face on the floor below and smack him so that his brother could get up and shake Andrea into consciousness, but if Daryl was the one suffering from visits from the recent past, all Merle had to do was grab Daryl's nose and squeeze.

In the weeks following the flight from Woodbury, one in ten nights was not plagued by a nightmare, which was actually a record Merle was quite proud of. Living in the apocalypse for a little over a year and evading biters beyond secure walls was sure to bring nightmares to anyone but the fact that he, Daryl, and Andrea were suffering from replays of human torturers meant that the biters no longer held as much terror for them. After suffering at the hands of perfectly capable, sick-minded humans, biters were welcome in Merle's book, but he hadn't seen a biter for weeks now, thanks to Officer Friendly. Merle's greatest stress reliever was denied to him because of the unfair reason that he couldn't walk ten feet without feeling faint. The counterargument Merle had given was that if someone put a chair out for him to sit in and he was given back his blade, he could put down at least three biters and while Andrea agreed that he could do with releasing some tension, she didn't think this was one of Merle's brighter ideas, so he had to scrap it.

As compensation, Daryl had found a boxing bag in the recreational room for exemplary inmates and brought it into Merle's cell, strapping an outer rubber layer to it with duct tape so that Merle could chuck a knife at it and work on his throwing technique. It was no biter, but the bag did help to keep himself in shape and relax away the stress he built up every day. He modestly thought that he was getting pretty damn good at knife throwing and this was where he was to be found midday right after lunch as Andrea and Daryl sat around watching him practice. When Rick appeared at the cell doorway, he had the annoying courtesy to knock.

"Merle, you in here?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Merle thought to himself, _What sorta stupid question is that? Yeah, I'm still here, dumbass._

"Where else would I be, genius?" he asked, not looking at Rick as Andrea handed him back his knife for him to chuck it once again.

"Well, if you weren't so wrapped up in your little game, you might have noticed that there hasn't been a guard outside your door since last night."

"Someone's been on the longest bathroom break ever," Merle muttered. "That must've been one hell've a shit they had to take."

"I think you've earned the right to certain freedoms and a reasonable amount of trust," said Rick through lockjaw so that it looked like every word was causing him great pain.

"Good, now gimme back my blade," said Merle, sitting forward gingerly to test his bandages.

"You don't get that until you can show me that you're capable of doing a fast walk lap around the main yard," said Rick superiorly and Merle wished the man was standing two feet closer so that he could pop him one in the mouth with his heavily scarred but mostly healed fist. To prove that he was healed to a certain degree, Merle stood up, crossed his cell, and advanced on Rick who quickly took several tentative steps back.

"Blade—now," said Merle threateningly.

"I don't think you need to use it just now," said Rick and Merle noticed how his hand was inconspicuously settling around his belt where his Colt Python hung. "You seem to be getting on just fine with that knife and it's not imperative that you get your hands—_ahem_—hand on your lethal attachment at the moment."

"It is if I plan on leavin'," Merle retorted. When Rick just stared at him completely nonplussed, Merle folded his arms and leaned against the doorway more out of support for his weary body than impatience, but he couldn't let Rick know that. "Well? I'm waitin'."

"I would have thought," said Rick slowly, "that two months of living here would have changed your mind about staying."

"Thought wrong," said Merle.

If Rick really thought that Merle wanted to stay in this literal prison with people who didn't trust him and didn't want him around, he was even more delusional than he looked.

"Wait," said Andrea, joining him, "what do you mean you're leaving?"

"Well, normally, leavin' only has one meaning," Merle pointed out.

"But, you can't-,"

"I'll getcher stuff," said Daryl from within to everyone's surprise. Merle took that as an invitation to make his exit without awkward goodbyes and started towards the door that he had not yet gone through consciously.

"I'll be waitin' for my weapons outside," he told Rick as he trumped off.

But he wasn't prepared in any physical or mental form to face what awaited him on the outside. There were biters surrounding the fence, fighting to get in as the small figure or Rick's son patrolled the guard walkway. Gnashing, rotted teeth bared at him from every direction and decomposing fingers stretched through the fences to grab anything that moved. An endless tide of death waiting for him the second the protective gate slid shut behind him and he knew that even if he was up to his normal standards with a complete clean bill of health, he could never face what was beyond this safe haven alone again.

"Having second thoughts?" asked Andrea, appearing behind him with a backpack slung across one shoulder and an axe resting across the other.

"And just where y'think you're goin'?" Merle demanded.

"Wherever you go," she replied, unabashed.

Just like Andrea to catch him off guard with her bluntness, but he couldn't allow her to accompany him this time.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but y'cant ride my tailcoats for this one. I gotcha back t'your people just like y'wanted, so you don't owe me nothin' anymore."

"In other words, you don't want me with you."

"Did I say that? No, the honest t'God truth is I don't want nothin' t'happen t'you 'cause've some stupid mistake I make again. Y'always knew I worked better on my own. Y'may not like it any more'n me, but it's just how I operate and nobody here's gonna get used t'that. They ain't my people; they don't want me."

"That ain't true," said Daryl and Merle swore colorfully through his teeth at the sight of his little brother carrying his fully loaded crossbow and a sack of supplies. He also had Merle's weapons which he handed over with the comment, "Courtesy of Rick Grimes." Fixing Merle with a incisive look he continued on. "Nobody here knows y'now for what y'are compared t'what y'were a year ago in Atlanta. Face it, y'were a big shitty pile've negativity and unpredictability which was a bad lasting impression t'leave on 'em, but they've been watchin' you heal, and the Atlanta crew plus the Greene family see more positive changes than negative reminders. They're willin' t'give you a chance, bro, providin' that y'watch your mouth, help out, don't give nobody weird looks…"

"I just can't live like that," said Merle and it hurt to admit it. "Me'n people—we don't get along. Never could stay tied down with people as y'damn well know. Only reason I came back t'the house was 'cause she burned herself alive and you didn't have no place t'go. She never wanted me so I left. You needed me, so I came back. Nobody's got need of me now and no one truly wants ol' Merle hangin' round,' specially with that baby."

"Then we can all leave right now and not worry about that," said Andrea firmly. "Don't think you can just drop us off after what happened at Woodbury, Merle. You've changed your mind one too many times on me and I've had to go with your flow, but this time, you're stuck with me and you have no authority or higher power to make me change my mind or have it changed for me. The same applies to Daryl. We want to go with you out of our own free will."

"Y'won't surive," Merle grumbled half-heartedly.

"And neither will you," Daryl pointed out.

"You know, that cell block isn't the only one in the prison," said Andrea shrewdly. "You don't have to live with the others if it bothers you so much. You can share crops, share water, share guard duty and manpower responsibilities, but you don't have to be around them if you don't want to. In Woodbury you had your own quarters and could come and go as you pleased and from what I could see, you were decently happy with what you had going until I came along and ruined that, but it suit you. If you take up residence in a different cell block, it would be no different than your room in Woodbury. You would still have access to weapons and food, but more importantly, you wouldn't be on the run. I know you, Merle, more now than ever, and I know you don't want to step foot outside that fence anymore than I do."

Merle took his blade attachment from Daryl and screwed it into place. Someone had cleaned it thoroughly for him and even gotten some of its original shine back. It hadn't been used in over two months, the longest he had gone since the world went to hell without putting a biter down. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the biters mulling around, waiting…

Autumn was on its way and it would be another cold, hard, lonely winter if he took to the road.

"Well?" prompted Andrea. "Say something already!"

"Don't you ever shuddap?" Merle asked her.

"No, because you only seem to listen when I talk," she responded curtly.

Daryl's mouth twitched as if he was trying to conceal a grin and Merle elbowed him in the side. "Wipe that stupid look off've your face, boy," he snapped as he turned his back on the gate. If he really thought about it, he supposed that the other cell block Andrea had mentioned wasn't so bad after all. It would suffice…for now…

**Walking Dead Season 3 Part II resumes Sunday, y'all, and I cannot WAIT! I'll admit that after the events of Woodbury in my story, I sort of had a downward spiral with my ideas, but I was never sure how I was going to end the story anyway. So, I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading and for making the story what it is. Your feedback always encouraged me to write more, so if you think about it, YOU wrote the story. **** All of your comments have made me one happy fan of WD and I'm so very glad that you took the time to read up on this little fiction.**


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